


Eight Steps to Victory

by Zeplerfer



Category: Hetalia: Axis Powers
Genre: Competition-Set Fic, M/M, Modern AU, Swing Dancing, lindy hop
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2016-03-19
Updated: 2017-02-13
Packaged: 2018-05-27 16:49:24
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 9
Words: 20,765
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/6292315
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Zeplerfer/pseuds/Zeplerfer
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>After failing to secure a spot on the Harvard Ballroom Dance Team despite his excellent square dancing skills, Alfred teams up with a fellow reject to show them what a country boy and a sarcastic Englishman can do with some swing.</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Pick a Partner

_Put your best foot forward with the Harvard Ballroom Dance Team!_  
_Team Tryouts - Monday at 8pm_  
_Adams Dining Hall_

Following the signs for the dance team tryouts, Alfred found himself in an elegant dining room with a dozen other hopefuls. The organizers had lined the chairs along one wall and pushed most of the tables to the far side of the room, leaving the wooden floor bare except for one lone table with three judges and a sign-up sheet. Alfred crossed the floor to add his name to the list.

A brunette with her hair drawn back in a French braid handed him a pen. “Put down your name and the type of dance, and we’ll provide the song and partner,” she explained.

Alfred nodded and flashed her a smile as he scrawled his name and favorite dance.

She looked at him like he had grown two heads when she saw what he had written down. “Seriously… polka? We’re the _ballroom_ dance team, not the square dancing team.”

“It was on the list!” Alfred protested. In fact, seeing that particular dance was the only reason he had bothered to show up for tryouts. Who cared about salsa or waltz or tango? He wanted to bounce energetically to corny, fast-paced music.

The brunette shrugged. “It was one of the open competition dances a few years ago. But trust me, you’ll have much better chances if you pick something else.”

“I want to polka,” Alfred insisted as he crossed his arms stubbornly. It was better than admitting that he didn’t _know_ any of the other ballroom dances.

“Fine.” She threw up her hands. “I’ll go see if we have a team member who knows polka.”

As she disappeared to a back room in a huff, Alfred joined the other hopefuls on the chairs lined against the wall. He watched as the men put on soft-soled leather shoes and the women strapped themselves into high heels that looked impossible for walking, much less dancing. Alfred glanced down at his sneakers and wondered if he should have chosen something fancier.

His head shot up as the judges called out several names. Three people stood up and walked out onto the floor, where they were met with three team members. They split into pairs and spread out across the dance floor. Alfred watched as the three sets of dancers perfomed the salsa to a catchy Latin song. The women sashayed their hips and spun tightly on the beat. The men moved their arms and legs gracefully. As the music came to an end, most couples finished the song with a dip. Alfred joined the others in clapping politely, even as he started to panic internally about what he had signed up for. If they did tryouts dance by dance, and he was the only one dancing the polka… that meant he would be the only one out on the floor.

Next up came the swing dancers, and Alfred wondered if it would be a good idea to sneak out while everyone’s attention was on the wild and boisterous dancers jumping and jiving across the floor. They kicked. They leapt. They slammed their heels on the floor to accentuate the beat. It looked surprisingly fun. By the time they finished, a few dancers had developed beads of sweat on their forehead, but they were still smiling brightly.

Alfred watched with growing trepidation as the last group of tryouts took the floor for an elegant waltz. They danced smoothly and elegantly, most of them wearing an expression of careful concentration. One man grimaced sourly as his dance partner spun a little too slowly and made them lose the beat. Alfred watched as they recovered and felt sorry for the dark-haired woman stuck dancing with the blond sourpuss. Even though the man waltzed with perfect precision, his expression clearly showed that he would rather be anywhere but on the dance floor. Or maybe it was just his large eyebrows that made him look so angry.

Both dancers seemed pleased when the song finally ended. They bowed to each other after the final spin. The dark-haired woman walked away with a relieved smile, while Mr. Eyebrows hung back on the dance floor.

Even though he knew it was coming, Alfred still jerked his head in surprise when he heard his name called. He strode out onto the floor, desperately trying to hide his nerves beneath a blinding smile. His grin slipped as he realized that Mr. Eyebrows was the member waiting to dance with him. Alfred glanced over at the brunette with the sign-up sheet and she shrugged apologetically.

“Is there a problem?” the sourpuss asked in an irritated English accent.

“ _You_ know how to polka?” Alfred replied incredulously. Somehow, he had never expected that he would be paired up with someone wearing a sweater vest and perfectly pressed trousers. His dancer partner looked far more suited to a stately waltz than the energetic polka.

Mr. Eyebrows sighed. “The most of anyone here, I’m afraid. I learned the basic steps in my History of Waltz class.”

Deciding to make the best of it, Alfred took his irritated dance partner into a closed position as the music began to play. Someone on the team must have had an extensive Disney music collection—it was the Silly Song from Snow White.

Alfred led his unenthusiastic dance partner through the basic step a few times. The man held himself stiffly, undoubtedly unaccustomed to the follow position. Despite the change in position, he managed to dance perfectly in time with the beat. Alfred switched over to a promenade and grinned at the judges as they danced past. The polka was such a lively dance. It would have been nice to have a more eager partner, but at least _he_ was having fun.

He took Mr. Eyebrows through a series of dizzying pivots and watched as the man’s irritation grew ever more obvious.

“Could you _try_ to look like you’re not being tortured?” Alfred asked.

“I will once we finish this ghastly dance,” the man muttered back.

Alfred grinned. “Just wait till you see what I have planned for the end!”

“So help me God, if you make me spin, I’ll make sure you _never_ get on the team.”

Taking that as the challenge it was, Alfred led them back into the basic step around the dance floor as the music began to fade away. He made Mr. Eyebrows spin one, two, three, four times, and ended with a mocking bow. They got a spattering of applause, though Alfred mostly ignored it in favor of enjoying the thunderous expression on his dance partner’s face.

The man snatched away his hand and stalked off the dance floor before the last strains of polka music had finished echoing in the room. Alfred listened with half an ear as Ms. French Braid informed the hopefuls and other team members that the list of choices would be posted by Sunday night.

“Good luck!” she called as the hopefuls changed back into their street shoes. Alfred just looked down at his sneakers and sighed.

* * *

Even though he already had his answer, Alfred still went back at the end of the week to check the list. Sure enough—his name wasn’t on it.

He shrugged his shoulders and turned to leave, but paused after a few steps as he heard the sounds of an angry argument waft into the dining hall that served as a dance practice room. Alfred didn’t recognize the woman’s voice, but the angry Englishman definitely sounded familiar.

“I am the best waltzer you have!”

“So what? A team needs _two_ people and no one wants to dance with you, Arthur!”

“Well, it’s not my fault they can’t handle criticism.”

Someone laughed. “Criticism? Is that what you call it?”

“The decision is final,” a different person added.

Alfred heard dance shoes slam loudly against the wooden floor and he watched with satisfaction as the cranky Englishman strode past the list with the tryout results. “Oooh, sounds like I’m not the only one who didn’t make the team,” he remarked cheerfully.

“Shut up,” Arthur replied irritably as he grabbed his bag from the coat rack.

“Hey, maybe this is karma getting back at you for keeping me off the team.”

Arthur rolled his eyes. “I didn’t keep you off the team. It was the judges didn’t see a need for someone whose only dance is _polka_.”

“Oh.” Alfred’s schadenfreude begin to fade. Seeing the unhappy expression on the Englishman’s face, he even felt a touch of remorse for his mockery.

Bag in hand, Arthur bent down to replace his dance shoes with a pair of loafers. “If you’re really that interested in competing, there’s still the open competition,” he explained as he finished changing shoes. “You don’t need a team for that.”

“Yeah, but I’d still need a partner.”

Arthur slowly straightened up and gave him a considering look. “True. Though if you _had_ a partner, you could show the Harvard Ballroom Dance Team what they’re missing out on.”

Even though he wasn’t much for subtlety, Alfred felt a smile slowly grow across his face. “Hey, that does sound nice.”

“It’s going to be a lot of work,” Arthur warned. “I can be very demanding.”

“You don’t say,” Alfred replied with a laugh. He gave it a few seconds of thought and decided that seeing the look on everyone’s faces when they won would be worth it. He offered his hand for a handshake and grinned. “I’m in!”


	2. Learn the Dance

The dance team’s practice room was much smaller than the formal dining room they used for tryouts, but it was more than big enough for two dancers. Alfred glanced around the room while Arthur set up the music. He wondered what the place had originally been built for. Given the age of Harvard’s campus, it had probably been some sort of Victorian curiosity like a billiards room before it was converted into a dance studio.

The light wooden floor was covered with scuff marks, showing the age and long use of the room. Slightly darker baseboards covered the walls, though they had been replaced on one side with cheap floor-length mirrors. After a brief glance in the mirror and a failed attempt to pat down his hair, Alfred set his backpack next to the wall.

“You sure they’re not gonna mind us borrowing the practice room?” he asked as he joined Arthur next to the only piece of furniture in the room—a small folding table that held an iPod dock and a cheap set of speakers. He glanced at Arthur’s music list, but he didn’t recognize any of the artists. They were probably old, obscure, foreign, or all three.

Arthur graced him with a bland shrug. “Whether they mind is beside the point. The room is available for any team member to practice.”

Alfred frowned. “Uh… didn’t they kick you off the team?”

“I was _not_ kicked off the team,” Arthur said, bristling at the comment. “I’m still doing the choreography for the waltz competition.”

“Huh.” Alfred arched an eyebrow. “So you’re good enough to plan out the fancy footwork, but no one wants to partner up with you to show it off.” He smirked. “I wonder why that is…”

“Well, I’m _hoping_ it’s because they don’t recognize talent when they see it,” Arthur replied with a challenging glint in his eyes. He turned and took a few steps to the center of the practice room, moving smoothly and gracefully with each step.

Having expected another insult, Alfred was surprised by the possible compliment. Did Arthur really think he was talented or was he just goading Alfred to get him to try harder? Either way, his comment worked. Feeling a little off balance, Alfred followed behind and self-consciously tried to mimic Arthur’s nimble steps. He’d never really paid attention to how he moved before because finesse had never mattered when he was spinning his partner wildly through the polka. The polka was all about kinetic energy, not the elegant grace of ballroom dancing. Alfred wasn’t sure he was ready for the switch.

“So… the waltz is a lot like polka, right?” he asked, feeling a little nervous to be learning a new dance with an extremely critical instructor. It was like singing in front of Simon Cowell or cooking with Gordon Ramsay or trying to deal with a brat in front of Jo Frost. The caustic comments were fun, but only when they were directed at someone else.

Oblivious to the unflattering mental comparison, Arthur shrugged as he turned to look at Alfred. “Only in the sense that they both rotate around the floor. Not that it matters. Neither of them is much like swing.” He paused and narrowed his eyes at Alfred’s look of confusion. “You didn’t read the rules, did you?”

“What rules?”

Arthur sighed and touched his fingers to his temple. “This year’s open competition is Lindy Hop. We pick the music and choreograph a three-minute dance. And by ‘we,’ I mean ‘I.’ It’s open to everyone who isn’t competing for a team, so I expect we’ll see a wide range of skill levels.”

“We’re gonna Lindy?” Alfred perked up. That sounded _way_ better than waltz.

Judging by the look on his face, Arthur didn’t share his enthusiasm for the dance. “Yes, yes, I’m sure you’ll like it. It’s quite bouncy.”

“Bouncy is good,” Alfred replied cheerfully, bobbing his head approvingly. He tilted his head to the side as another thought occurred to him. “And they’re cool with same-sex dance partners?”

“Of course.” Arthur arched an eyebrow. “Do you really take me for someone who agrees to a dance competition without checking the rules first?” Unlike _you_ , was the unspoken implication.

Alfred just laughed in response. He could tell already that Arthur was unlike anyone he had ever danced with before. Instead of letting the insults get to him, he would take them as a challenge. Beneath his easy-going veneer, Alfred was always ready for a good competition—even if his competitor was his own dance partner.

With the rules out of the way, Arthur began their first practice by demonstrating the basic step for East Coast Swing. Despite his own lack of familiarity with the dance, he was a good instructor. As Arthur showed off the moves, he explained that East Coast Swing was a version of Lindy Hop specifically designed for beginning dancers. Learning the basic moves would help them perfect the Lindy Hop.

Counting out the beats, Arthur danced three steps to the left in a quick triple step pattern, and then danced three steps to the right in another triple step pattern before ending on a rock step backward. As he demonstrated the moves again, he made sure that each step landed on a beat or a half beat— _one and two, three and four, five, six_. Arthur even made it a little easier for Alfred to understand by comparing the _triple step, triple step_ combo to the basic polka steps.

Nodding along, Alfred mimicked the basic pattern and danced along with a bounce in his steps. He found the dance a bit easier than he had expected—especially since he didn’t have to try so hard to keep his movements smooth and graceful. He continued practicing the basic pattern, taking care to stay on the beat.

Arthur watched him closely and nodded in satisfaction. “You’re not as terrible as I feared.”

“Wow. Much compliment. So praise,” Alfred replied mockingly.

The Englishman’s look of tolerable satisfaction morphed into a look of complete disapproval. “At least your dancing is better than your English.”

“Dude, it’s a meme. You know, the one with the cute dog giving you an annoyed look?”

Arthur stared at him blankly. With his earlier disapproval still on his face, he actually managed a relatively good impression of the doge meme, even though he had clearly never seen it before. Alfred snickered to himself.

“ _Moving on_ , we’ll start without music first,” Arthur declared as he offered his hand to Alfred. “And take off your shoes. I don’t want you stepping on my feet.”

Alfred kicked off his sneakers. He sent them flying across the room and grinned as they left scuff marks on the baseboards, earning him yet another look of disapproval. If only he could turn Arthur’s sighs and annoyed looks into money, he would never have to worry about tuition payments ever again.

They moved into the closed dancing hold at the same time, bumping into each other’s hands and arms as both tried to take the leading position. Alfred ended up with his right hand behind Arthur’s shoulder blade and his other hand floating pointlessly in the air.

“Excuse me. What makes you think _you’re_ leading?” Arthur demanded. “I’m the only one of us who actually knows the dance.”

“So you should do the harder moves!” Alfred retorted, feeling a surge of irritation. It was tricky enough learning a new dance without also having to reorient his position.

“Following isn’t hard. You just do the same thing but backwards.”

“Well, if it’s so easy, you should try it.”

They spent another moment glaring at each other as neither budged position. It looked like their dance partnership would collapse before they even had a chance to start. They would never win the competition if they couldn’t even decide on a follow and a lead.

Alfred took a deep breath and tried to explain why having him lead was the only logical choice. “I’m taller than you,” he pointed out.

“By about two centimeters!”

“And I can also do _this_.” Alfred placed his hands on either side of Arthur’s waist and lifted the lean Englishman off the floor. As Arthur sputtered indignantly, Alfred spun him a quarter turn and deposited him lightly on his feet. “Can you do that?”

“I could if you weren’t so fat,” Arthur retorted.

“Hey, I’m not fat!” Alfred protested. “Does this look like fat to you?” He lifted up his shirt to show off his lean stomach muscles. Sure, they had a tendency to get a little pudgy over the winter, but he had spent weeks getting them back into shape for spring.

His demonstration worked. Arthur stared at his abs a moment longer than necessary and took his own deep breath. “Alright, fine. I’ll let you lead for this practice, but we’re splitting the lead for the competition.”

“Great!” Alfred celebrated by lifting Arthur into the air again and spinning him around in a full turn. He did it mostly to show that he could.

“Stop that!” Arthur snapped.

“You don’t like being spun. You don’t like being lifted. Is there _anything_ you like?”

“I have nothing against spins or lifts when they’re moves I’ve choreographed,” Arthur replied, as he begrudgingly shifted into a closed position with his left hand on Alfred’s shoulder and his right hand holding Alfred’s hand. “But you’re just doing it to be annoying.”

“I can’t help it. You’re so easy to annoy!” Alfred teased.

Arthur gave him an unimpressed look and promptly began back-leading him into the basic steps of East Coast Swing. Alfred struggled to catch up and spent the next few moments thinking about his feet instead of trying to irritate his dance partner. After a few tries, he eventually got the pattern and they moved into a bouncy, gently rotating basic step.

As Alfred grew more confident in the beat, he began to see the allure of swing. Sure, it didn’t require quite as much energy as polka, but it was still a fun dance.

“And now for the music,” Arthur announced as they drew closer to the small folding table. He led himself out of closed position in a graceful swing and, still holding onto Alfred’s hand, reached out with his other hand to hit play. Still moving with the beat, Arthur returned to the closed position as the sound of an old brass band filled the room.

Alfred snickered. “Wow, is this from the 50s?”

“1940, actually,” Arthur calmly replied. “And I refuse to accept criticism from someone whose favorite dance is the polka.”

Unable to come up with a good retort in time, Alfred settled for keeping time with the music and focusing on his dance steps. Despite the song’s old-timey feel, he liked bouncing to the beat. For his part, Arthur seemed content to step smoothly and sedately. They probably looked like an odd pair—one bouncing along and the other gently gliding.

As the brassy swing music continued to play, Arthur showed him a few more moves—spins and turns and Charleston kicks. After just a few more songs, Alfred was already building up a sweat, while Arthur still looked fresh and pristine.

“You’re not tired already, are you?” Arthur asked with a smirk.

“Of course not!” Alfred insisted.

They danced for another forty minutes as Arthur showed him progressively more difficult moves, including the basic Lindy Hop steps. Unlike East Coast Swing, it followed an eight-count pattern with a rock step, triple step, rock step, triple step. The six counts and eight counts got mixed up in Alfred’s head as he struggled to keep track of his footing.

Arthur snapped at him when he missed the beat, throwing him off beat and making him lose track of the music completely.

As yet another fast-paced swing song finally ended, Alfred let go of Arthur’s hand and sagged against the wall. He caught his breath as he used the hem of his shirt to wipe the sweat from his brow. “Alright, I’m done. I’ve lost all ability to can.”

“So soon?” Arthur smirked as he turned off the music. “Well, don’t feel too bad. My previous partner only lasted ten minutes. And the one before that burst into tears.”

Alfred frowned. “At your comments or at the dancing?”

“Both probably. Here’s some advice: don’t bounce around quite so much and you’ll be fine.” Arthur packed away his iPod and turned to leave. “See you on Thursday,” he said calmly as he left Alfred alone in the practice room.

Feeling like he had run half a marathon, Alfred slowly walked over to his shoes. He sagged to the floor and pulled them back on. As he waited another minute for his heart rate to return to normal, he wondered what, exactly, he had gotten himself into.


	3. Select a Song

In the hopes of actually impressing Arthur with his dancing skills, Alfred spent the next few days watching lindy hop videos on YouTube. His roommate didn’t notice a change in his computer habits (spending several hours per day staring at online videos was pretty normal for Alfred), but he _did_ notice a change in his music.

“What is that crap?” Lovino demanded when he returned to the dorm room after classes, glaring at Alfred as he walked over to his desk on the opposite side of the room.

“Swing music. I’m trying to find something good for our competition,” Alfred explained, grinning sheepishly as he reached for his headphones. At least, he _hoped_ that it was swing music. Even after his lesson with Arthur, he still wasn’t entirely sure how fast the music should go and if he was looking for six beats or eight.

Lovino wrinkled his nose. “Well, it sounds like shit.”

“You sound like shit,” Alfred muttered under his breath as he plugged his headphones into his laptop. He’d been hoping to finish his music search before Lovino finished his classes for the day. A shared love of Italian food was about the only thing he and his roommate had in common. They didn’t like the same sports, they didn’t like the same music, and they couldn’t even agree on which girls were pretty (Alfred had the sense that leggy was good, but no personal opinions on the matter). Fortunately, life had become much smoother for the bickering duo once they instituted a strict headphones-only policy when the other person was in the room.

It was a small room, with the furniture—dresser, twin bed, desk—lined up in perfect symmetry on either side. Their clothes cluttered the floor, but each had taken care to make sure that his stuff remained on his own side. The imaginary dividing line in their room was the only way the two roommates had managed to survive fall semester.

As Lovino pulled out a book to study, Alfred moved on to the next song on his playlist. The bouncy music cheered him up immediately and he grinned in delight when he found several swing versions of the Game of Thrones theme. If he and Arthur danced to the catchy theme, they would definitely win. Who could possibly resist two handsome dancing nerds?

After a few more videos, Alfred’s phone began to ring. He glanced down to see that his mother was calling him. Again. For the fifth time that week.

“Gah, that’s the worst one yet!” Lovino complained as the repetitive strains of the Nyan cat song filled the room.

Ignoring his irritated roommate, Alfred stared at the phone in trepidation. He knew his mother wanted to hear the results of his tryout with the Harvard Ballroom Dance Team, but he hated letting her down. He sighed and finally answer the call. “Hi, Mom.”

“Honey, is everything okay?” she asked, clearly worried by his tone of voice. “You haven’t been answering your phone all week!”

Alfred tried to keep his voice down so the conversation wouldn’t bother his roommate quite so much, but he could tell from Lovino’s frown that it wasn’t working. “Sorry, Mom. I’ve just been…” he paused, not wanting to tell her about all the youtube videos. “Uh, really busy with dance practice.”

She gasped in excitement. “You made it onto the team! That’s wonderful, honey.”

“Um…”

“Do you have a dance partner already?” she asked eagerly, continuing before Alfred could correct her. “What’s she like?”

“Well…” Alfred trailed off, too embarrassed to tell his mother that he hadn’t made the team. But he realized a moment later that he didn’t have to. After all, he _did_ have a dance partner, so he could answer her question without even lying. “My partner’s a great dancer, but really strict about getting everything right,” he said.

“Sounds like a good match for you,” his mother replied with a little chuckle.

“Hey!” Alfred protested. “What’s that supposed to mean?”

“Sometimes you need someone to give you that extra little nudge.”

“Easy for you to say,” Alfred groused. “You’re not the one getting chewed out when you miss the beat.”

“I’m sure you’ll get the hang of it,” she replied encouragingly.

He smiled. Even if he did get annoyed by all the voicemail messages, it was still good to hear her upbeat voice. “Thanks, Mom.”

“So… what’s her name?” she asked, her voice taking on a sly tone.

Alfred’s mind suddenly blanked. The only girl’s name that came to mind was his mother’s name and he didn’t think she would believe him if he told her about a 23-year-old Martha. He glanced desperately around the room, hoping to spot a female name on his textbook or somewhere in his room. His eyes fell on the calendar. “April,” he said in relief. That was a good name—he’d liked her character in Teenage Mutant Ninja Turtles. He could almost hear his mother open her mouth to open a slew of questions he wasn’t ready to answer. “Sorry, Mom. I gotta go. Practice time,” he said so quickly his words slurred together. With a final goodbye, Alfred turned off his phone and realized that he did have to leave right away if he wanted to arrive on time. He stuffed his laptop into his backpack and added a towel for wiping off his sweat at the end of the practice.

Leaving Lovino to enjoy their room in silence, Alfred raced through the hallway and slipped between the students studying on couches in the dorm lounge. He stepped out into Harvard Yard and immediately had to dodge a gaggle of tourists that were too busy taking pictures to pay attention to where they were going.

Making his way through a number of tourist groups, Alfred sped across the yard. He crossed Massachusetts Avenue and quickly reached the entrance to the Ballroom Dance Team’s practice room. To his surprise, he found Arthur waiting for him outside with a sour expression. “Crap, I’m not that late am I?” he asked, suddenly worried he was going to have to listen to Arthur complain about his tardiness for the next hour.

To his relief, Arthur shook his head. “The practice room is being occupied by the salsa dancers.”

“Oh, okay.” Even though he had been looking forward to working on aerial flips, Alfred perked up as he sensed the perfect opportunity to convince his dance partner that they needed a modern swing song for the competition, not some old-fashioned tune from the 1940s. “Wanna get some ice cream and pick out our song?” he suggested cheerfully. Perhaps a bit of tasty ice cream would be enough to improve Arthur’s gloomy mood.

His idea went over like a lead balloon. “I already have a song selected,” Arthur replied, shaking his head with the dour look still firmly planted on his face.

“Come on, hear me out! I’ve found some really good ones.”

Arthur snorted. “Somehow I doubt that.”

“I’ll pay,” Alfred offered, deciding to try a new tactic.

After another dubious look, Arthur finally, grudgingly, agreed. “Alright, fine.”

Feeling a little irked at how hard it was to convince Arthur just to listen to some new songs, Alfred led the way to the nearest ice cream shop, J.P. Licks. They joined the students waiting in line and both spent some time studying the quirky, chalkboard menu. When it came time to order, Alfred picked three scoops of the ‘negative’ cookies ‘n cream, which featured _vanilla_ Oreo cookies in _chocolate_ ice cream. For his part, Arthur chose the lime sherbet.

Taking advantage of the nice spring weather, they carried the ice cream and sherbet to one of the cute little tables outside the store and Alfred pulled out his laptop. He took a few bites of tasty chocolate ice cream as he waited for his computer to connect to the free wifi and load the right video. As soon as it was ready, Alfred took out his earbuds and plugged them into the laptop. Scooting closer to Arthur, he popped one into his ear and offered the left earbud to Arthur, who took it gingerly and looked a little uncomfortable putting it in his ear.

Unable to contain his excitement, Alfred hit play and explained his idea. “I know something everyone will love. We dress up as Mario and Luigi and dance to a swing version of the Super Mario Brothers theme! Whatdaya think?”

Arthur raised an eyebrow. “I think April Fool’s Day was _last_ week.”

“It’s not a joke!” Alfred insisted.

“Really? It sounds like a joke to me.”

Not one to be deterred, Alfred quickly switched over to the next bookmarked video. “Okay, I’ve got another plan. It’s Harvard, so let’s do a song from the Legally Blond musical.” He played ‘What You Want’ and nodded his head to the beat.

“That’s not even swing,” Arthur complained by the end of the first chorus.

“It’s not?”

“No."

“Oh.” Alfred looked at his screen and wondered how many of his songs were the wrong genre. He took a few bites of his delicious ice cream to cheer himself up and determinedly plowed into the next song. “Well this one is definitely swing,” he said as he played the swing version of the Game of Thrones theme.

“A swing and a miss,” Arthur snarked between bites of lime sherbet. Alfred wondered if it was a mistake letting him get a sour flavor instead of something sweet.

“What do you have against my songs?” he demanded.

“The point is to provide background music to the dance. With the ones you’ve picked, everyone would be focusing on the song lyrics instead of us. And a popular theme song is just a cheap way to pander to the audience. The judges hate that.”

"Huh." That actually made more sense than Alfred had expected. He looked through his videos and sighed, sorry to see the ‘Duck Tales’ theme discarded from the list. He had known it was a long shot, but it brought up such a fun, nostalgic feeling! With those criteria in mind, he turned next to country music, but Josh Turner’s ‘Why Don’t We Just Dance’ earned a cold reception from Arthur. When all hope of having a modern song seemed lost, Alfred decided it was time to rely on Disney for a miracle. He played ‘Almost There’ from Princess and the Frog.

Arthur didn't immediately reject it, which was a huge improvement. He arched an eyebrow thoughtfully. “Well, it has the right beat and I like the 1920s sound,” he said.

“You like it?” Alfred asked, giddy that he had found something Arthur didn’t complain about.

“I wouldn’t go that far, but it’s certainly the only acceptable one yet.” Arthur gave the video a somewhat suspicious look. “What’s it from?”

“A movie.”

“What _sort_ of movie?”

“Well... Disney,” Alfred admitted.

Arthur rolled his eyes. “No Disney! That’s the ultimate pandering tool.”

“Geez, if I can’t pick Disney, country, _or_ a theme song, what does that even leave?” Alfred complained.

“Something classic.” Arthur leaned toward the keyboard and pulled up ‘In the Mood’ by Glenn Miller. “This is what I had in mind.”

As soon as it began to play, Alfred recognized it as the first song they had used at dance practice. He wrinkled his nose as he took another bite of his ice cream. “But it’s so boring.”

“It’s one of the most important swing songs ever written,” Arthur retorted. “But I suppose if you want something with a little more spice, we could do ‘Sing, Sing, Sing.’”

Alfred reclaimed his laptop and found the other song Arthur had suggested. He was disappointed to discover it didn’t involve any actual singing. “This is all so old! Can’t we have a song from _this_ century?”

“Lindy Hop was invented in the 1920s. It pairs best with songs from that time period.” Arthur set down his empty cup with an air of finality and handed back the left earbud. “Thank you for the sherbet, but you’re not going to change my mind.”

“Rock, paper, scissors?” Alfred proposed.

Arthur gave him a thoughtful look. “You won’t complain about my taste in music if I win?”

“Only if you don’t complain about _my_ taste if _I_ win,” Alfred replied, feeling a little cocky. He had been the Rock/Paper/Scissors champ at his high school.

“On the count of three, I’m throwing paper,” Arthur announced. “One…”

Alfred blinked in surprise. “Wait, what…?”

“Two… three!” Arthur finished.

Not gullible enough to fall for _that_ trick, Alfred immediately curled his fist into a rock. To his shock, he found himself staring at Arthur’s flat hand. Even worse was seeing the aggravating smirk on Arthur’s face.

“My song choice then,” Arthur smugly replied. “I did warn you.”

“I didn’t think you’d actually do it!” Alfred sputtered.

 “The salsa dancers should be finished soon,” Arthur added cheerfully. “You can finish moping with your ice cream. I’ll be in the practice room preparing our choreography when you’re… _in the mood_.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> And here's the music list for this chapter:
> 
> [The Mario Brothers Swing](https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=RuNZQMY96Ts). Probably the best swing dance ever! :D  
> [What You Want](https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=KPlrFOwv2zs) from Legally Blond  
> [Swing version of Game of Thrones](https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=itn8highTRo)  
> [Duck Tales](https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=OxSJr2xErUE)  
> [Why Don't We Just Dance](https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=VYE0yH_jVb0) by Josh Turner  
> [Almost There](https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=4PtgRrRcKJM) from the Princess and the Frog  
> [In the Mood](https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=_CI-0E_jses) by Glenn Miller  
> [Sing, Sing, Sing](https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=fhyhP_5VfKM) by Benny Goodman


	4. Practice, Practice

Alfred stared at his remaining bites of ice cream, bummed that Arthur had rejected every single song suggestion. He was feeling less like a dance _partner_ and more like a marionette that Arthur intended to showcase on stage. For a few minutes, he debated if it was even worth going back to the practice room and having his every step critiqued to death. But he had shook hands and he wasn’t one to go back on a deal. Plus, he _really_ wanted to show the team that they had made a mistake in rejecting him. Sweet revenge was worth a few sour comments along the way.

After finishing his ice cream and packing away his laptop, Alfred ambled along the busy Cambridge street. No need to hurry when Arthur was just going to criticize him anyway. He passed by bookstores and bars and restaurants and quirky boutiques as he made his way back to the practice room, where he found Arthur impatiently waiting.

“Finally! There you are,” Arthur said, his voice heavy with exasperation. “The spotters are showing up in ten minutes and I need to demonstrate the steps before they get here.”

“Spotters?” Alfred asked in confusion.

“Yes, of course,” Arthur replied, acting like he was an idiot for not recognizing the dance term. “It would be irresponsible to practice aerials and flips without two extra people to help make sure you don’t land on your ass.”

“Since you’re the one doing the flips, I think you mean stop _you_ from landing on _your_ ass,” Alfred retorted. But he was still excited about the new moves (aerials! flips!), so he kicked off his shoes and joined Arthur at the center of the wooden practice floor.

They started with a Frankie Flip. Standing back-to-back, they locked their elbows together. Alfred leaned forward slightly and Arthur hopped up so that his butt was cradled above Alfred’s butt. The positioning felt a little weird, and Alfred couldn’t stop the strange thoughts popping in his head about Arthur’s butt. It was softer than he expected. (Not that he’d spent any time thinking about what touching it would feel like, of course.)

When they had gotten the initial prep right, Alfred practiced leaning forward and balancing Arthur on his back. Despite Arthur’s lean frame, it was harder than he expected. He wobbled the first time and had to take a stumbling step forward to catch his balance.

“Be careful!” Arthur cried. Rolling to the side, he quickly removed his weight from Alfred’s back and landed on his feet as lightly as a cat.

Alfred straightened up, relieved that he hadn’t toppled face-first onto the floor with Arthur on his back. “I’m okay,” he said. “Just need to get the balance right.”

“Well, don’t break anything. I need you in one piece for the tournament,” Arthur replied, giving him a concerned look. It was probably one of the nicer things Arthur had ever said during practice, though Alfred was pretty sure he meant it literally. 

Alfred stretched his arms and they moved back into position and tried again. This time, ready for the shift in his center of gravity, Alfred found it much easier to balance Arthur on his back as he leaned forward, his upper body parallel to the floor. The second part of the move would involve flipping Arthur over his back with the hope that Arthur would land on his feet, facing Alfred and ready to resume dancing. But that part would have to wait until they had a little assistance.

“So how’d you get folks to agree to help us?” Alfred asked as Arthur rolled off his back again. Knowing what he did of Arthur’s lack of popularity among the dance team, it seemed unlikely they were helping two competitors out of the goodness of their own hearts.

Arthur shrugged. “They owe me a favor. I’ve been helping with their waltz choreography.”

“Are you as hard on them as you are on me?” Alfred wanted to know. He walked over to his backpack, pulled out his towel, and wiped the beads of sweat from his temple.

“I just want you to get it right,” Arthur insisted.

“Don’t believe his lies. Arthur is a terrible taskmaster,” a female voice called from the doorway. The voice’s owner smiled winningly as she stepped into the practice room. She brushed a few locks of long, brown hair behind her ear and introduced herself. “I’m Liz, and this is Roddie,” she added, pointing to the tall, stone-faced young man who followed her into the room.

“Roderich,” he corrected.

“And you would not believe the number of times Arthur has called us the worst waltzers in the world,” she continued as she walked over and gave Alfred an examining look.

“Only until you get it right,” Arthur retorted.

Liz sighed dramatically. “I bet he’s a lot nicer to you. You’re cute, and that counts for a lot with the judges. Not that they’ll ever admit it.” She leaned towards Alfred and murmured into his ear, “If you want my advice, don’t take it personally. He’s just as hard on himself.”

They both turned to look at Arthur, who glared back from the center of the room with a more-irritated-than-usual scowl. “Come on, let’s get to it. I’ve already wasted enough time today,” he said in clipped tones.

“Oh my, he seems rather jealous, don’t you think?” Liz added in a sly whisper, her breath nearly tickling Alfred’s ear.

“Not really.” Alfred glanced over at the dark-haired Roderich. It was hard to tell from his stern expression if he was annoyed or bored. “Your boyfriend might be, though.” He wondered if that was her goal. Sometimes women’s motivations were a complete mystery to him.

She laughed. “Oh, Roddie’s not my boyfriend. He’s dating that MIT student who snuck the paper maché fire truck on top of the Great Dome.”

“Seriously? That’s awesome!” Alfred said with a grin, even though he had a hard time imagining the stuck-up waltzer with an MIT student who loved pranks.

“Yes,” Roderich agreed in a flat tone as Liz giggled in the background. Alfred wondered what the joke was. Before he could ask, Arthur cleared his throat and glared.

“Could we _please_ get back to dancing?” he demanded.

They gathered at the center of the wooden floor. Roderich took up a position to the side of Alfred and Arthur as they linked arms back-to-back. Liz stood facing Alfred and gave him an encouraging smile. “Don’t worry, we’ve helped other Lindy Hoppers before. Once you get him off the ground, we’ll walk through the second part of the flip.”

Following her directions, Alfred lifted Arthur up onto his back and bent forward. This time, instead of stopping halfway, Arthur kept rolling backward as Liz helped guide his legs to the floor. Arthur and Alfred’s heads knocked together and Alfred winced as he straightened up. Their bodies were much closer than he had expected and he found himself staring directly at Arthur’s eyebrows from less than a foot away.

“Good,” Arthur said. There was a sparkle in his eye and a half-smile at a job well done. “This time with momentum.”

They tried again and managed to avoid hitting their heads together as Alfred sent Arthur flying backward in a half-controlled jumble of limbs. Liz dodged to the side and barely caught Arthur’s elbow, steadying him as he landed forcefully on the hard wooden floor.

“Too much momentum,” Arthur muttered, looking a little rattled from his hard landing.

Alfred winced. “Sorry.” 

They tried once more and the third time proved the charm. Alfred managed to flip Arthur over his back with just enough speed to avoid bumping heads, but not so much speed that he slammed down onto the floor. For his part, Arthur landed lightly on his feet, facing Alfred squarely at exactly the right distance to start dancing again. Alfred reached for Arthur’s hand and held it for a moment before he realized they weren’t going to start dancing.

“Perfect!” Liz cried, clapping enthusiastically.

Roderich gave them one, solemn nod. It felt like a pat on the back.

Alfred beamed, basking in the praise. He wondered if he could invite them to all their practice sessions because it was nice getting some positive reinforcement for a change.

“The Lindy Flip is a little more difficult,” Arthur warned as he moved to the swing-out position. After a rock step back to build momentum, he hopped forward and landed perpendicular to Alfred, with his lean stomach pressed against Alfred’s hip and his legs on either side of Alfred’s body. Dancing the Lindy Hop had brought them into some close positions, but this was the closest one yet and Alfred found himself hyper-aware of every place where their bodies touched. “Now, you wrap your arm around my waist, and I push down on your hand and shoulder,” Arthur said. “Let’s try a simple lift for now,” he added as he did his part and then waited for Alfred.

Thrown off kilter by the unexpectedly close contact, Alfred belatedly muddled through his own movements. He wrapped his arm around Arthur’s waist and hefted him straight into the air, squeezing him tightly as he lifted him into the air for a couple seconds.

Unprepared for the tight pressure on his diagram, Arthur gasped for air. He struggled to catch his breath on the way down and missed his timing for lowering his feet onto the floor. His left foot slipped out from beneath him and he began to fall backward.

With his arm still safely tucked around Arthur’s waist, Alfred swiveled to the side and managed to stop his dance partner from hitting the floor. Instead of a fall, the move turned into a dip. Blond hair dangling bare inches from the floor, Arthur glanced up at Alfred with a startled gaze. They held the position for a breathless moment. Alfred had never been good at dips before, but this one had somehow turned out perfect. A second later, a soft giggle reminded him that they weren’t alone in the practice room. Alfred hastily helped Arthur to his feet and pretended the moment had never happened.

Trying to look nonchalant himself, Arthur calmly brushed some imaginary dust from his trousers. “Not so tightly next time,” he groused as he returned to the swing-out position.

Still a little red-faced from their unexpected dip, they practiced just the lift again. Arthur did his rock step and hop into place. This time Alfred succeeded in giving him a nice hang-time without squeezing the air from his lungs.

“Maybe try wrapping your arm a little lower around his waist?” Liz suggested with a wink.

Arthur rolled his eyes, but Alfred kept her advice in mind. He tried the move a few more times until Arthur declared himself satisfied with the lift portion of the practice. They then moved on to the true Lindy Flip, and Liz and Roderich moved closer to help.

“This is the tricky part,” Arthur warned. “You lift both arms and swing the right one around the back of your head and push up with the left one,” he explained, demonstrating the movements with his arms like he was brushing something across the back of his head. “Got that?”

“Uh, yeah,” Alfred replied, though he didn’t really. He wasn’t sure how he was supposed to send Arthur flying around his back while still holding onto his waist.

Arthur step-hopped into place with extra speed and they tried the full flip, but for the life of him, Alfred couldn’t get the move right. Even with Liz and Roderich providing pointers, the best he could manage was sort of pivoting Arthur across his back and dumping him back onto the floor on the other side of him with a dull thump.

After several more failed tries, Roderich shook his head. “Perhaps music would help?”

“I think it’ll take more than music,” Liz replied.

“Maybe a trampoline?” Alfred wondered.

Arthur shook his head discouragingly. “Just try it again!”

Despite Alfred’s aching arms, they tried the move again. Alfred wrapped his arm around Arthur’s waist as his partner jumped up and around his back. He swung his arm backward to give Arthur more momentum, but only succeeded in getting him halfway around. Arthur slid down his back with an annoyed groan. The longer they tried and failed, the more irritated Arthur became. “It’s a Lindy flip, not a Lindy piggy-back ride,” Arthur complained.

Alfred glared back, annoyed that Arthur was pissing and moaning when _he_ was the one with the aching arms doing all the hard work. “Grilled cheesus! I started dancing this like a week ago. I think I’m doing pretty well.”

“Well.” Arthur crossed his arms. “You’ll need to do a lot better if you want to win. Come on, I’m not quitting until we get this right.”

Alfred groaned. He gestured at Liz and Roderich, who looked as bored as he felt. “Face it, it’s not happening tonight! Can’t we just take a break?”

“Can’t you just get it right?” Arthur retorted.

“No, I can’t. I’m a crappy dancer who shoulda stuck with polka.” Alfred’s shoulders slumped as he dropped his gaze to the floor. Not for the first time that night, he wondered why he was trying to learn the Lindy Flip instead of sitting in his comfy beanbag chair, irritating his roommate with his video games.

Arthur took a deep breath. “You’re not… I’m sure you’ll…” he frowned and paused, lost for words when it came to support and encouragement. In the end he trailed off and shrugged his own shoulders. “I suppose this is enough for tonight.”

Feeling a wave of relief, Alfred gathered up his backpack and shoes. He took his time to give his aching muscles a rest, moving slowly as two sets of footsteps left the room. He was surprised when he felt a sudden clap on his back. Hoping that Arthur had finally found some words of encouragement, he turned around, but was disappointed to see that it was Liz.

“See, I told you he liked you,” she said with a wink. “Hang in there. I’m betting on you.”

“Thanks, Liz,” Alfred replied, giving her a half-hearted smile that turned into a confused frown after a second’s thought. “Wait, you’re betting on us to win the competition?”

She laughed as she turned to leave. “Oh, no. I’m betting you’ll actually stick it out with Arthur long enough to make it to the competition!”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Yep, everyone in Dance Club is either gay or kind of a jerk (or both).


	5. Choreograph & Compromise

Liz’s comment about her bet with the other dance team members stuck with Alfred, weighing down his thoughts. He felt sorry for Arthur, but on the other hand he also understood why the guy had difficulty keeping partners. They danced to _Arthur’s_ song, at _Arthur’s_ pacing, using _Arthur’s_ choreography. About the only place Alfred had gotten what _he_ wanted was the ability to lead part of the routine, and he was pretty sure that was only because he had more upper body strength and Arthur knew they needed the flips to win.

But the comment had also made Alfred realize that he had a significant amount of leverage in their unequal dance partnership. Arthur _needed_ a dance partner, and he had to be really desperate if the best he could find was a polka dancer. That gave Alfred a strong negotiating tactic, and he intended to use it at their next practice.

“No spotters today?” Alfred asked as he joined Arthur in the otherwise empty practice room for another late-afternoon practice. He wrinkled his nose with disgust. It smelled like someone had forgotten their deodorant.

“Afraid not,” Arthur replied, his back to Alfred as he finished tying his dance shoes. “Apparently _some_ people actually have classes and homework.”

“Huh.” Alfred tilted his head to the side. After making sure that Arthur was looking the other way, he lowered his nose to his armpit and took a quick sniff to make sure the body odor wasn’t his. It was a little known fact that proper hygiene was one of the key elements of good ballroom dancing. Smelling nothing, he lifted his head with relief and resumed their conversation as Arthur turned to join him in the center of the practice room. “That’s weird. I thought we just partied and invented social networks all the time.”

Arthur snorted. “Spoken like a true fresher.”

“Hey, I’m meeting my gen ed requirements! It’s not my fault I picked all the easy ones.” Alfred grinned and kicked off his shoes. Knowing the routine by now, he took Arthur’s right hand and led him smoothly through the basic step as they warmed up together and continued to chat. “The Global History of American Food is basically the best class ever.”

“AKA, how McDonald’s conquered the world?” Arthur asked, arching an eyebrow. He did an underarm turn and returned precisely on beat. It was nice dancing with the same person over and over again—their familiarity made it easier to mesh their different dancing styles. Alfred was still a little bouncier and Arthur a bit smoother, but on the whole it worked surprisingly well.

“Something like that,” Alfred agreed cheerfully. “What’s your excuse?”

“Oh, I was a good student and finished my concentration requirements early so I could have a relaxing senior semester,” Arthur primly replied.

“Teacher’s pet,” Alfred teased as he practiced his own spin, sending Arthur around his back. It wasn’t until they caught hands again that he realized the importance of what Arthur had told him. This would be Arthur’s last chance to win. No wonder Arthur insisted on everything being perfect. His thoughts distracting him from his steps, Alfred quickly found himself off-beat. “Crap, this is easier with music,” he muttered under his breath as he tried to catch up with Arthur’s impeccable footwork.

“If you’re having trouble, I could put on Glenn Miller.”

“Ugh, no. I’m sick of him already.”

“I can tell.” Arthur sighed. “We’re never going to win if you spend the entire dance looking like you’re sucking on a sour lemon.”

“Dude, it’s not my fault you picked a song I hate. And at least _I_ smile sometimes,” Alfred protested, jerking Arthur’s arm a little too quickly as he pulled Arthur into another spin. “It’s better than _your_ stupid, smug smirk.”

Arthur’s expression darkened into a scowl. “I don’t smirk!”

“You sure as hell don’t smile.”

“Well, I’d rather look like a serious competitor than try and flirt my way into a high score!” Arthur snapped. Taking advantage of Alfred’s distraction, he stole the lead and started a set of jig kicks from the closed dancing pose. They swung around each other in a fast circle and alternated kicking between each other’s legs.

Glancing down to make sure he wasn’t going to get kicked in the shins, Alfred decided that Arthur’s comment was probably meant as an insult to suggest that he had to rely on his looks to make up for a lack of dancing skill, but he rather liked the implication that he was handsome enough to turn the judges’ heads. “You really think my smile’s gonna get us a better score?” he asked, giving Arthur a sly grin.

“Not _that_ one,” was all Arthur said in reply as he smoothly moved on to a set of side-to-side Charleston kicks. They kicked on one side, turned toward the inside, and then kicked out on the other side. Alfred loved the fun and bouncy kicks. He followed along as Arthur led him into a tuck turn, and they continued the tandem Charleston kicks with Alfred positioned directly in front of Arthur, both of them facing the mirror while they continued kicking to the imaginary beat. It could be dangerous to kick so close together, but he trusted Arthur to get the timing right.

“Maybe this one?” Alfred suggested, catching Arthur’s glance through the mirror and smiling playfully. To his surprise, Arthur dropped his gaze and nearly lost the beat.

“I think that’s enough kicks,” Arthur said as he dropped Alfred’s hand and took a couple steps backward. “We should probably work on some flips.”

Alfred nodded. It was time to put his negotiating skills to the test. Determined to get what he wanted, he met Arthur’s gaze straight on. “If I get the Lindy Flip right, I want to pick the song.”

“What?” Arthur blinked in surprise for just a second and then just as quickly crossed his arms over his chest. “Absolutely not. We have a song and I’ve already started the choreography.”

“ _You_ picked a song. You’ve decided everything so far, and I’m sick of it. If I’m going out there, I want to be dancing to something _I_ like.”

“I gave you a chance! You agreed to rock-paper-scissors," Arthur reminded him.

“Yeah, I guess that’s true.” Alfred shrugged, ignoring the pang from his conscience as he turned to fetch his shoes from their spot near the wall. Conscience be damned, he wanted better music. “Welp, good luck finding someone _in the mood_ for your song,” he said.

Alfred walked out of the room. His departure was met with a moment of silence, followed quickly by the sounds of Arthur chasing after him on the wooden floors.

“Where are you going?” Arthur called, sounding annoyed and a little desperate. “We haven’t finished practicing today!”

“I have. In fact, I’m done for the whole semester,” Alfred replied. He paused to lean against the hallway wall and pull on his shoes. He needed to give Arthur a little time to offer a new song, but he didn’t want to make it obvious that he was stalling.

Arthur strode in front of him and moved to block his path. “You’re just going to leave?” he demanded, a touch of hurt hidden beneath the anger in his voice.

Uncomfortable with the bitter accusation in Arthur’s eyes, Alfred dropped his gaze to the floor. He knelt down and slowly tied his shoelaces. “Yep. This might be your last chance, but I’ve still got three more years ahead of me. Heck, I bet I could get on the team next year and get a partner who isn’t a total slavedriver.”

He expected Arthur to shout or curse, and then eventually bargain him back to the dance room with a better song choice. Arthur surprised him by doing neither. He just sighed and walked back to the practice room, the sound of his footsteps echoing in the empty hallway.

Crap, that hadn’t gone according to plan. Alfred slowly straightened up, his left shoe still untied. He glanced over his shoulder and frowned as he watched Arthur’s back disappear into the practice room. It was possible that Arthur was just calling his bluff, but the genuine hurt in his voice suggested otherwise.

Alfred didn’t need Jiminy Cricket on his shoulder to tell him he’d gone too far. He walked back to the practice room and found Arthur hunched over the little table that held his ipod and speakers. Alfred cleared his throat. “Hey.”

Arthur whirled around and gave him a startled look. His eyes narrowed. “Did you forget something? Your sense of decency, perhaps?”

“Oh, come on, that’s not fair,” Alfred tried to protest, annoyed at being treated like he was the bad guy just because he was finally sticking up for himself. “Dude, I don’t want to ditch you, I just don’t like your song choice.”

“Really?” Arthur gave him an unimpressed look. “What’s wrong with it?”

“It’s old-fashioned and boring and everyone’s heard it before.”

“I’m sorry I’m too old-fashioned and boring for you,” Arthur apologized sarcastically.

“That’s not what I meant!” Alfred cried in exasperation. “Yes, you’re hard, but in a good way. And you can keep going for so long, it’s crazy.” He flushed as he realized the innuendo in what he was saying. After a few moments of uncomfortable silence, Alfred rubbed the back of his head in embarrassment. “Look, I… let’s work on flips,” he offered.

“What’s the point?” Arthur asked, shrugging his shoulders in resignation. “I thought perhaps…” he trailed off and shook his head like he was talking to himself. “It doesn’t matter. You’re just going to walk out when there’s something else you don’t like.”

Alfred frowned. Maybe it was true. Maybe they were both too headstrong to be good dance partners. But he also meant what he said about Arthur being a good dance partner and the idea of simply walking away left him with a nagging sense of unease.

He thought about the time he had convinced Arthur to let him lead and realized that it wasn’t talking that did the trick. It was lifting Arthur up and showing him why it was the better choice. Deciding that he couldn’t leave until he’d given it one more shot, he took a deep breath. “I’d still like to get the Lindy Flip before I go.”

Arthur gave him a knowing look. “It would certainly help you get on the Dance Team next year.”

“It’s not that!” Alfred shook his head. “I hate it when I can’t get a move right. It just sticks in my head and I keep thinking about what I did wrong.”

Looking a little less irritated, Arthur pursed his lips. “What makes you think you could do it when we don’t even have our spotters?”

“I looked up some tips online and I think Liz was actually giving me bad advice. I’m supposed to pivot you around my upper arm, not wrap my arm around your waist. Here, let me show you.” Alfred reached for Arthur’s hand and, to his surprise, Arthur gave it to him. They stepped into swing-out position. Alfred swung his arm back on the rock step to give him extra momentum and then bent down as Arthur danced toward him. He placed his arm higher on Arthur’s back, with the top of his arm resting just beneath Arthur’s armpit. Focusing on using all of his strength, Alfred lifted both arms in the air and swung them above his head to give Arthur a good launch.

Arthur yelped in surprise and Alfred barely managed to duck in time to avoid Arthur’s arm hitting him in the face. He heard a loud thump and opened his eyes to see Arthur falling to his hands and knees after landing too hard on the wooden floor. Biting his lip, Alfred quickly stepped forward and offered Arthur a hand up. “Oh god, are you okay?”

“That was nearly it!” Arthur cried, an excited grin on his face as he surged to his feet. “Let’s try it again!”

Even though Alfred suggested that he might want to sit down first before getting flung into the air again, Arthur was having none of it. He wanted to practice until they had the move absolutely right, as insistent and demanding as a school marm making Alfred write a sentence over and over again on the chalkboard. The second time went better, and by the fifth time, Alfred actually managed to grab Arthur’s elbow on the way down and help cushion his landing.

The feeling of getting a new move right filled him with exhilaration. The way Arthur was smiling—so happy and excited—probably helped too. Arthur’s good cheer was infectious, and even more satisfying because it was so rare.

“I’m still picking a song with a 20s aesthetic,” Arthur announced at the end of practice, once he had worn out Alfred with a few more flips. “And we’re going to practice six days a week until the competition.”

“Four days and a song written in the past decade,” Alfred countered.

“Five days and a song from the past two decades.”

“Deal!” Alfred cried and they shook on it.

“And you were wrong, by the way,” Arthur said as Alfred turned to leave. “I’m staying on for postgraduate work, so this won’t be my last chance at the Harvard Invitational.” For just a second, an adorable smile flashed across Arthur’s face, like a burst of sunlight on a cloud day. “But I think this might be my best shot yet.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> True fact, students at Harvard don’t have majors. They have “concentrations.”
> 
> BTW, if you want to vote for the song, now is your chance! I'm choosing between [Booty Swing](https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=Eco4z98nIQY) by Parov Stelar, [Get Lucky](https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=T-oJCNiiLCQ) by Flash Mob Jazz, and [Careless Whisper](https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=lVXziMFEqX0) by PostmodernJukebox. I'm also partial to [The Room Where It Happens](https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=IWdBOsk8D7A) from the Hamilton musical, but it's kinda hard for Lindy Hop.


	6. Find an Outfit

With earbuds firmly planted in his ears, Alfred bounced along to the electro swing music as he followed Arthur into the thrift clothing store. The first thing he saw was a literal pile of clothes on the floor and several people squatting down as they rummaged through it. Signs advertised the pile of clothes as available for two dollars per pound. Alfred wasn’t an expert on clothes shopping, but even he was pretty sure that was a strange way to shop.

To his right was an assortment of costumes and accessories. Further into the store was men and women’s clothing organized by era. He followed Arthur through the tightly packed racks of used men’s clothing and wasn’t surprised when they ended up in the 1920s section.

Their new song matched the era perfectly and made Alfred grin. It had energy and a _great_ name. He took out his earbuds and nudged Arthur as he browsed through the racks. “Do we got the swing booty?” he asked, wagging his eyebrows at Arthur. “We doooo!”

Arthur sighed the long-suffering sigh of someone who had just discovered a form of humor even worse than puns. “Let me guess. Another meme?”

“Yep.” Alfred nodded, rather pleased with himself.

“Well, if anyone asks, I don’t know you.” Arthur pulled out a pair of black slacks and gave them a discerning look. He glanced at the tag. “Hmm. What size do you wear?”

“First we’re strangers and now you want to know my size? Make up your mind, dude!”

“Fine. If you don’t want to tell me, go find some black trousers yourself,” Arthur replied, pressing the slacks against Alfred’s chest. He let go and turned back to the clothing rack.

Alfred had to scramble to grab the slacks before they dropped to the floor. Still clutching the slacks against his chest, he followed Arthur to the dress shirt section. “So, uh… I don’t actually know my pant size,” he admitted a little sheepishly.

Arthur’s hands paused as he sorted through white dress shirts. He turned his head to the side and favored Alfred with an incredulous look. Arthur looked up and down Alfred’s body, taking in his worn-out jeans and ratty t-shirt. “You’re _wearing_ clothes. How can you not know?”

“Um… my mom does my shopping for me.”

“My god. I can’t believe you’re actually a university student.”

“Hey, I do my own laundry!” Alfred protested. Though stung by Arthur’s dismissive glance, he cheered up once a brilliant idea occurred to him. He didn’t have to go through the hassle of finding the fitting room and trying on lots of different pants. A much better solution was right at hand, and it had the added bonus of getting Arthur very close to one of his best _ass_ ets. “Could you check the tag on my jeans?” Alfred asked, turning his backside toward Arthur and watching the expression on Arthur’s face. He still wasn’t positive if Liz was right about his dance partner having the hots for him, but he was determined to find out.

Arthur’s eyes widened slightly and the way his gaze focused on Alfred’s butt seemed very promising. “I… suppose that would work,” Arthur replied. He stepped closer. Despite the hesitance in his voice, he didn’t waste his time grabbing the back of Alfred’s jeans and pulling them back far enough to read the upside-down tag.

Alfred couldn’t help grinning as he waited for Arthur to finish. The Englishman seemed to be fiddling with the tag a little more than necessary. “Having fun back there?” he teased.

“It’s too worn to read,” Arthur complained as he let go of Alfred’s jeans.

“Oh.” Perhaps it wasn’t quite as brilliant of an idea as Alfred had first thought. He shrugged and moved on to idea number two. As Arthur examined the large collection of suspenders, Alfred dialed his mother and waited for her to pick up the phone.

“Hi, honey!” she said cheerfully.

“So, random question. What’s my pant size?”

“32-32.” She paused a second. “Are you… _clothes shopping_?”

“Yeah. I need something for the dance competition. Ar—April said my wardrobe sucks.” Alfred frowned slightly. “I don’t know why. I think the holes add ventilation!”

His mother laughed. “Oh, sweetie. You should probably let her pick your outfit. What’s she going to wear?”

“Uh… a dress?” The mental image of Arthur in a low-cut green dress filled Alfred’s thoughts and a dopey smile crossed his face. “Yeah, a cute blond in a dress.”

“Who are you talking to?” Arthur asked, taking Alfred by surprise as he appeared from out of nowhere behind one of the clothing racks.

“Remember to send me a picture!” his mother insisted at the same time.

“Right, right,” Alfred agreed, barely paying attention to his mother as he tried to decipher the strange look on Arthur’s face. “Thanks, Mom. Bye!”

As soon as Alfred found the correct size of slacks, Arthur pressed a white shirt and suspenders into his arms and led him to the fitting rooms on the second floor. The “rooms” were made of cheap plywood frames, creating several small changing areas that each had a black curtain across the doorway for privacy.

“I thought the point of knowing my size was avoiding the fitting rooms?” Alfred asked, not thrilled about the idea of stripping to his undies in public.

“You still need to check the fit,” Arthur replied curtly as he carried his own set of clothing into one of the empty changing spaces. He yanked the curtain shut.

Alfred frowned and wondered what he had done to annoy Arthur this time. When nothing came to mind, he shrugged and stepped into the other empty changing room. There was a chair on one side and a full-length mirror on the other. After making sure that the curtain was completely closed behind him, Alfred took off his shoes and slipped off his jeans. He set the jeans on the chair, then stepped into the black pants and pulled them up to his waist. They fit perfectly. Alfred paused a moment to admire the way the slacks hugged his ass. They were roomy enough for dancing, but still had a clean cut that made his legs look nice and long.

He took off his t-shirt next and added it to the pile of clothing on the chair. The white dress shirt seemed fine, but it took him a few minutes to figure out the suspenders. After he realized that the crisscross part went at the _back_ , he managed to snap them onto the slacks and readjust the straps so they were the right length.

Alfred paused to admire himself again, hooking his thumbs behind the straps as he posed for the mirror. Some guys looked really good in suspenders, and he liked to think he was one of them. He rolled up his sleeves slightly to perfect the 1920’s laborer look.

“Alfred, what’s taking so long?” Arthur complained from the other side of the curtain.

“Uh… almost done. Just getting the suspenders right!” Alfred replied quickly. He checked the mirror one more time to make sure everything was in place and then stepped out of the changing room. “What do you… think?” He gawked, question nearly forgotten as soon as he caught sight of Arthur. He thought _he_ looked good, but he was pretty sure that when they danced, everyone was going to be watching Arthur instead.

Arthur looked like an English dandy ready for a ride. He had chosen a navy sports coat that accentuated his trim waist. His beige breeches hugged his crotch and ass in a way that left little to the imagination. It took Alfred a second to realize that Arthur was wearing knee-high black socks instead of boots, but he was pretty sure no one in the audience was going to notice or care. To top it off, Arthur had covered his messy blond hair with a tweed newsboy cap.

“Yes, I think that’ll do,” Arthur said as he gave Alfred his own appraising look.

Once the initial shocked pleasure of seeing Arthur’s outfit had worn off, Alfred was finally able to think again. He took another look at the outfit—this time to compare what they were wearing. “Let me guess… I’m a farm boy and you’re an aristocrat?”

“Well, you do act sometimes like you grew up in a barn,” Arthur retorted. He took a step closer and tucked Alfred’s shirt into the back of his pants.

Alfred grinned. “Close! It was actually a dairy farm in Wisconsin.”

“No wonder you act so cheesy.”

Alfred laughed and slapped Arthur on the back. “Good one!”

They both stood together for a few more moments in awkward silence. Alfred let his gaze drop for another surreptitious glance at Arthur’s cute butt. “So… how do you get into those pants?” he asked, hoping Arthur would reply with something along the lines of ‘Well, you could start by buying me a drink.’

“Carefully,” Arthur replied instead. “And I wish you’d stop calling them pants.”

“Why? What’s wrong with pants?”

“Nothing’s wrong with them. But the word means knickers in the UK.”

“Knickers like… don’t get your knickers in a twist? _Ooooh_.” Understanding dawned on Alfred, along with another fun idea for teasing Arthur. “You don’t want to think about my underwear?” he asked playfully.

“I’m going to assume you can manage _that_ part of the outfit on your own,” Arthur retorted. He raised an eyebrow. “Or does your mother buy those as well?”

“Uh…” Alfred flushed and hurriedly looked around for a distraction. Out of the corner of his eye he spotted something red and sparkly. They were in the women’s section now, surrounded by a huge assortment of dresses. Remembering his conversation with his mother, he grabbed a slinky red dress that was covered in sequins and had long slits up both sides of the dress from the rack. “Wow, this would look _great_ on you.”

Arthur didn’t even blink. “Probably, but it doesn’t fit the 1920s theme.”

“Try it on anyway, please, please, please!” Alfred shamelessly begged. The idea of Arthur in a dress had been in his head no more than ten minutes, but now it demanded his full attention. He wanted it the way mountain goats craved minerals on steep cliff faces.

“Fine,” Arthur agreed surprisingly easily. He took the sequined dress and returned to his dressing area, the black curtain swishing behind him with impressive panache.

Alfred bounced from foot to foot as he waited impatiently. He supposed that Arthur had always been relatively good looking, but he’d been too much of a jerk at first for Alfred to see it. Now, with Arthur slowly warming up to him, Alfred was starting to see a lot that he had missed behind the mask of a smug, pretentious asshole. And now he wanted to see even more. Waiting another minute was pure torture. Finally the curtain slowly swayed open to reveal… Arthur wearing his normal clothes.  

“What?” Alfred pouted. “You said you’d try it on!”

“I _did_ try it on.” Arthur smirked as he returned the red dress to its spot on the rack. “I even took a picture.” He held up a finger before Alfred could get too excited. “I’ll send it to you _if_ we win.”

“You’re bribing me with a picture of you in a dress?” Alfred demanded loudly enough to turn a few heads from women browsing through the section.

“Bribe is such a nasty word. I prefer to think of it as an incentive,” Arthur replied cheerfully. “You came up with the idea yourself for the Lindy Flip. Now change back so we can go find you some shoes.”

Still grumbling to himself, Alfred sighed and returned to the changing area with his jeans and t-shirt. They didn’t look as fashionable as his suspender outfit, but they made up for lack of style with oodles of comfort. Once he was finished changing, he followed Arthur back downstairs to the shoe section. They had a surprisingly large selection of dance shoes and—because they were used—much better prices than Alfred had seen at other stores.

The women’s shoes came in a variety of colors, with various heel heights and different types of straps. The men’s shoes came in every color you wanted—provided the color you wanted was black or white. About the most interesting thing about them was the occasional white wingtip.

“Do you know your shoe size or should I just call your mother directly?” Arthur asked.

Alfred grinned. “Of course I know my _shoe_ size. It’s big!”

“Big is not a shoe size.”

“Oops. Guess I was thinking of something else.”

“Alfred, you have been acting strangely all day.” Arthur narrowed his eyes. “Did Liz put you up to this? Because whatever she told you, it’s not true.”

“Really?” Alfred felt a rush of disappointment. “Oh.”

“Yes, now try on the damn shoes.”

After a few minutes, Alfred found a pair that fit and met Arthur’s exacting demands. He stared at the black wingtips as they stood in the checkout line because it was easier than looking over at Arthur and trying to decipher his irritated expression. What, exactly, did Arthur think that Liz had asked him to do?

Earlier good mood completely forgotten, Alfred left the store with a dress shirt, trousers, suspenders, dance shoes, and more questions about Arthur than answers.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Thank you all for voting! [Booty Swing](https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=Eco4z98nIQY) by Parov Stelar was the winner, but it was a close contest. It's a fun song, and I suspect some of you chose it for the booty ;D
> 
> Also, I should give credit to [this dapper pair](https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=3HnLqoe_qzI) for inspiring Alfred and Arthur's outfits.


	7. Know When to Quit

It was one week until the competition and everything should have been going great. Arthur’s choreography was fantastic, the new song had loads of energy, and their snazzy outfits made them look like professional dancers. Alfred had memorized the moves and practiced them with Arthur until his calves burned, but something was missing. No matter how close they came to technical perfection, the magic was gone.

Alfred wasn’t sure what the problem was, though he suspected he had caused it somehow. Arthur seemed to spend more time in his prickly porcupine shell. He had never smiled much, but now he didn’t smile at all.

It didn’t help that there was one section of the dance Alfred just could not get.

“No, Alfred. Your _other_ left foot,” Arthur complained as they went through the steps for what felt like the hundredth time.

The music repeated in that section with a few bars of trumpet solo. The song felt like a whirling, swirling, spinning top at that point, so, in keeping with the music, Arthur had them doing side-by-side twirls with grapevine steps behind the back when they met up again. It was fast and cool and would have looked fantastic if Alfred could get it right. Unfortunately, he was unused to spinning around so much, and he kept mixing up his feet, resulting in him and Arthur going different ways as they started the grapevine.

Alfred was almost ready to give up. Again. “This doesn’t even feel like swing,” he protested.

“It isn’t,” Arthur agreed as he twirled through the steps with an easy grace. “I borrowed the moves from a waltz routine.”

“Hey, that’s no fair! No wonder I can’t do it.”

“I suppose you have a better idea?”

“Of course.” Alfred grinned. “Polka!”

Arthur looked at him like he had gone insane. “We are _not_ doing polka moves in the middle of a swing dance.”

“Why not? It’s basically the same as waltz.”

“It is absolutely not the same,” Arthur insisted.

“You’re just saying that because you think it’s for rednecks.”

“Well, it’s not exactly a dance for the dinner party set,” Arthur agreed, looking a little uncomfortable, the way he always did when they discussed wealth and class. “Now do you want to keep complaining or are you actually going to try to get the move right this time?”

“Neither.” Alfred crossed his arms across his chest and grinned. After threatening to leave had turned out to be a terrible negotiating tactic, he had spent some time thinking about a better one. With weeks of practice under his belt, he now knew Arthur’s weak spot. “What do you call a bear with no teeth?” he asked as Arthur stared at him blankly. “A gummy bear!”

“Oh god.” Arthur groaned and buried his head in his hands.

Taking that as a good sign, Alfred continued his strategy. “Whiteboards are remarkable," he said with a grin. "What does a house wear? A dress." Hearing another groan, he added, "Once you’ve seen one shopping center, you’ve seen the mall.”

“Those are terrible,” Arthur replied, gritting his teeth.

Alfred smiled innocently. “Why, waltz the matter?”

“Argh!” Arthur tossed his hands into the air. “What did I do to deserve this punishment?”

“Hah, good one! You know, I entered a pun contest once. I sent in my ten best puns! I thought at least one would win. . . but no pun in ten did.”

“Okay, okay,” Arthur gave in. “If I let you show me the damn polka move, will you stop?”

“I could keep up the puns _while_ I—”

“No!” Arthur shouted, pulling Alfred into a closed waltz position so fast it made Alfred’s head spin.

Alfred adjusted the position to a somewhat looser hold and smiled at Arthur. “Here’s what I’m thinking… we do the same Lindy Hop foot pattern, but in a polka,” he explained as he started with the triple-step, triple-step traveling step, leading Arthur through the moves in a tight circle in the small practice room. Then he bent down at the knees slightly and made sure he had a good grip on Arthur’s back. The pivots were easier when he had a strong, physical connection. They pivoted 180 degrees clockwise on their front feet and then pivoted again on their new front feet, completing the circle.

“You made me suffer through your awful puns for _this_?” Arthur asked in annoyance. “This is just the basic traveling step.”

“I know. I wanted to get the rhythm right. For the competition, I want to do the same thing, but back-to-back.”

“Oh.” Arthur looked mildly intrigued. “Will that work?”

“Let’s just say it helped me win the competition at last year’s Pulaski Polka Days,” Alfred said with a grin as he stepped around Arthur and pressed his back against Arthur’s back. He linked elbows with Arthur as their upper backs and butts pressed together. “Ready?”

“I think so.”

They repeated the same pattern, this time while dancing back-to-back. It took a few tries to mesh their speeds together, but pretty soon they were trotting around the room in a fast-moving polka. It was hard to make a full half-turn on each pivot, so their circles grew smaller, gradually circling inward until they ended up at the center of the practice room.

“And then we end with a Frankie flip,” Alfred suggested. As soon as he felt Arthur hop up, his firm butt fitting into the curve of Alfred’s lower back, Alfred bent forward and flipped Arthur over his back. He grinned as they both straightened up, still facing each other. “What do you think? I call it the reverse polka!”

“Well… I suppose it’s better than a move you can’t do,” Arthur said, but despite his words, his eyes seemed brighter and there was more color in his cheeks, proving once again that even sticks in the mud occasionally liked to try something new.

They started from the beginning and Alfred instantly felt more energy in the dance. During the opening set of Charleston kicks, they both kicked a little higher, and Alfred sped up slightly, trying to make the rhythm go a little faster, which earned him a slight scowl from Arthur and a tug on his arm to slow him down. They moved through the first reverse polka set without any problems, and Arthur landed perfectly into position after the Frankie flip. After a few more Lindy Hop basics, they continued with their spins, hops, and flips, and Alfred managed to not mix up his left foot and right foot.  

He was feeling pretty proud of himself as they finished the second set of reverse polka moves. Everything continued to go smoothly until they reached the back-over-back flip. Either Arthur wasn’t perfectly balanced on his back or Alfred had put too much strain on his left side. As soon as he bent forward, he felt his left foot start to roll out from under him. He jerked downward, sending Arthur rolling to the side.

Arthur gasped in surprise, but he was sure-footed enough to recover quickly and as Alfred stood up again, he found himself face-to-face with a very worried dance partner. “Are you okay?” Arthur asked, his eyebrows knitted together in concern. “You didn’t hurt yourself did you?”

“I’m fine,” Alfred replied, shrugging off the twinge in his ankle. He wasn’t going to let a little pain get in the way of their much-needed practice.

“Really?” Arthur gave him a dubious look. He bent down and before Alfred knew it, Arthur was squeezing his left ankle through the padding of his dance shoe and sock.

Not ready for the sudden pressure, Alfred yelped in pain. “Ow!”

“You’re just going to hurt yourself more if you dance on a sprained ankle,” Arthur reminded him, tsking softly. “Come on, let’s get some ice on that.” He turned his shoulder toward Alfred, inviting him to put some of his weight on Arthur’s shoulder.

Alfred gingerly reached out and rested his left hand on the shorter man. They took a few steps toward the hallway and Alfred wobbled as he tried not to lean on Arthur too hard.

“I’m not a delicate flower,” Arthur snarked. “You’re not going to break me.”

Despite the pain from his ankle, Alfred couldn’t stop the joke that immediately sprang to his lips. “That’s what he said!”

Arthur blinked. “What who said?”

“No, like a that’s-what-she-said joke but… never mind,” he trailed off as they hobbled together down the hallway. Alfred had never been this direction before and he was surprised to find that it ended in a small kitchenette that looked like it had been last decorated in the 1980s based on the dated floral wallpaper decorating the top half of the wall.

Arthur led him over to one of two plastic chairs sitting on either side of a small, circular table; Alfred plopped down with relief. He slowly unlaced his dancing shoe and pulled it off while Arthur dug through the freezer. After a few seconds of rummaging, Arthur pulled out a bag of frozen corn and tossed it to Alfred.

“Is this your way of saying my jokes are corny?” Alfred asked with a grin. He lifted his left foot onto the table, resting it next to the fruit bowl as he pressed the frozen bag against his sock. It felt good, quickly numbing the slight throbs of pain from his ankle.

Arthur snorted and sat down in the chair across from Alfred. “I wanted to give you a block of cheese because you’re a cheesy blockhead, but there wasn’t any of that in the refrigerator.”

“Probably for the best. Wouldn’t want me to cut the cheese!”

“Oh goodie. A fart joke. And here I thought we’d already plumbed the depths of your humor.”

“Don’t worry! My humor’s got hidden depths.”

Arthur shook his head and sighed, but Alfred was pleased to see the hint of a smile finally appear on his dance partner’s face. Maybe they had been pushing themselves too hard. Maybe Arthur just really needed a break from his constant quest for perfectionism.

Feeling a little better because of the more relaxed atmosphere, Alfred tilted his head to the side and finally asked a question that had been bugging him for the past few weeks. “So… I know you’re not the easiest to work with, and you can be really stubborn—”

“Said the pot to the kettle,” Arthur interrupted with a roll of his eyes.

“—but I still don’t understand why no one on the team wanted to dance with you.”

A look of hurt flashed through Arthur’s eyes before he quickly hid it beneath his calm demeanor. The silence dragged on. Alfred wasn’t sure if Arthur would reply, but eventually, he did. “I’m not sure what you’ve heard, but it’s a little more complicated than just that,” Arthur said as he dropped his gaze to the floor. “I… did have someone I danced with for most of last year.”

Arthur sounded sad and a little wistful; Alfred immediately found himself jealous of this previous dance partner. Was everyone else since then just a replacement for the one who got away? Or perhaps there had been something _personal_ between them. Alfred leaned forward, the pain in his ankle completely forgotten. “What happened?” he asked.

“We proved why it’s a bad idea to date your dance partner. Things can get very messy if you break up.” Arthur sighed and when Alfred didn’t say anything, he continued. “It was ugly. By the end, I think nearly everyone took sides. And afterward…” he laughed mirthlessly. “Well, if I couldn’t even manage to get through a year with the friendliest, most laidback person on Earth, who _could_ I dance with?”

“Me, obviously!” Alfred replied with his brightest smile. He lifted a piece of fruit from the bowl at the center of the table and handed it to a confused Arthur. “We make a great pear.”

Arthur groaned and dropped his head to the table, but Alfred could tell from the other man’s shaking shoulders that he was trying to muffle his laughter. Everyone claimed to hate puns, but sooner or later they gave in to the fruity fun.

“You can laugh, y’know,” Alfred teased. “We’re friends. I promise I won’t tell anyone that you laughed at a pun.”

“Friends?” Arthur glanced up with an odd look on his face.

“Of course!” Alfred replied breezily. “I sure as heck don’t let my enemies scrounge around looking for pant sizes in the back of my jeans.”

“I see. Of course not.” Arthur reached for the rapidly defrosting bag of frozen corn and lifted it off Alfred’s ankle. “How do you feel now? Would you like help getting back to your dorm?”

Alfred set his left foot down onto the floor and stood up on it experimentally. There was a slight twinge, but it felt manageable as long as he didn’t walk too fast. He shook his head. “Nah, I’ll be okay.”

“Are you sure?”

“I’m positive.”

Arthur nodded. “Yes, you certainly are. Well, take it easy for the next few days. I don’t want to lose the competition because my partner doesn’t know when to quit dancing on a sprained ankle.”

“I won’t go anywhere but the dining hall and class,” Alfred promised as they walked together out of the building. Since that was pretty much what he did anyway, it wouldn’t be a hard promise to keep. He waved goodbye once their paths parted, any lingering pain forgotten as Arthur gave him an encouraging smile. Yes, it would have been nice to have more time for practice, but making Arthur smile again also felt like a victory.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Y'all can thank [Fire_Bear](http://archiveofourown.org/users/Fire_Bear/pseuds/Fire_Bear) for encouraging the puns! And by "encouraging" I mean "groaning at." Which I take as encouragement! :D
> 
> In other news, the last chapter is probably going up at the end of the month. I was hoping to have this story finished before I left on vacation, but I didn't, so you'll just have to wait to find out if this story ends in actual victory or just the (equally important) victory of making Arthur happy again.


	8. Swing Your Booty

Ten minutes until the competition was supposed to begin and the hallway was packed with young men and women dressed to the nines. Sequins sparkled beneath the florescent lights as everyone frantically put the last-minute finishes on their costumes—adjusting their shoes, fixing their bowties, and adding a touch of make-up. Alfred narrowly dodged a woman rushing past him in a skirt of rainbow feathers and craned his neck as he searched desperately for his dance partner. Arthur had promised to meet him by the water fountain and it wasn’t like Arthur to be late.

In all their time dancing together, it had never occurred to Alfred that Arthur might be the one to walk out on him. Was Arthur returning the favor from the time Alfred had threatened to quit? Was he upset about all of the puns? Alfred bit his lip and wished he had skipped a few corny jokes. But seven days without a pun made one weak…

Alfred’s phone buzzed in his pocket. He pulled it out, hoping it was Arthur. It wasn’t. Instead he found a message from his mother wishing him luck and reminding him that she wanted to see pictures of him and his dance partner. _Crap_. He had completely forgotten!

Searching the crowd once more for a glimmer of his partner’s blond hair, Alfred found his eyes drawn to a woman in a green flapper dress with her blond hair cut in a short bob. A brilliant idea formed in his mind. She would make a great ‘Alice,’ but it was probably creepy to go up and ask for a picture. Instead he casually lifted his phone and snapped a few pictures in her direction, acting like he just wanted to capture the excited, crowded scene in the hallway.

Pleased with his plan, Alfred grinned to himself. He’d crop the photos later and send them to his parents with no one the wiser.

“Checking out the competition?” a familiar voice asked from behind his shoulder. Alfred nearly dropped his phone as he spun around.

“Arthur!” he cried, filled with giddy relief that his partner hadn’t ditched him at the last minute. A second later he realized what Arthur had seen him do. He wanted to explain why he was taking the picture, but the words stuck in his throat as he took in Arthur’s appearance. Even though he’d already seen the way Arthur’s tailored jacket and tight pants hugged his slim body, somehow the ensemble looked even better today. Arthur had combed back his hair and wore a drop-dead sexy smirk. Alfred gulped.

“Emma’s a good dancer,” Arthur said, oblivious to Alfred’s inner turmoil, “though I think you should be more concerned about Kiku and Mei.” He nodded toward an Asian couple dressed in matching shades of red. “They’re known for their YouTube dancing lessons.”

“We can take ‘em,” Alfred replied confidently. “Now that you’re finally here.”

Arthur sighed and shook his head. “I’ve been here thirty minutes. I thought _you_ hadn’t come… until I realized there were two water fountains.”

Alfred wanted to assure Arthur that he could always be trusted to come when he had such a sexy partner, but he didn’t want to risk making things even more awkward right before the big competition. “So you’re not upset about the puns?” he asked instead.

“Of course not.” Arthur scoffed. “Though they are terrible.”

“I know, and if I write them on paper, they’re also tearable!”

Arthur rolled his eyes. “I don’t know why I put up with you,” he said as he stepped closer to Alfred and readjusted the suspenders so that they fell at the midpoint of Alfred’s shoulder on both sides. His hands lingered a little longer than necessary.

“Listen, about the photo,” Alfred began to explain. “I was just taking it because my—”

“It’s fine, you don’t have to explain. You like cute blondes in dresses, I understand.” Arthur glanced down and brushed some imaginary lint off Alfred’s sleeves.

“Only certain blonds.” Alfred grinned. “That reminds me—you’ve still got that photo of you in a dress, right? ‘Cause you’re gonna need it.”

Arthur blinked. “What?”

“For when we win. You promised, remember?”

“Of course I remember.” Arthur sounded annoyed. “Look, you can stop with all the teasing. I know Liz told you I’d go easier on you if you flirted with me, but you shouldn’t believe her.”

Alfred frowned. “But I wasn’t—“

“And I don’t think I’ve even been that difficult to work with,” Arthur continued irritably. “It’d be like kicking a puppy with how hard you’ve been trying.”

“Thanks, but—”

“Come on, we’d better hurry if we want good seats,” Arthur interrupted. The hallway had already started to empty without Alfred even noticing. All around him, the contestants streamed into the main ballroom to find their seats for the opening waltz.

Alfred grabbed Arthur by the shoulders to stop him from leaving. “Dude, will you just listen to me for a second?” he demanded. “I wasn’t trying to get on your good side. I just wanted to know if you were maybe interested in… I dunno… getting coffee?” Alfred trailed off, cheeks reddening as Arthur gave him a startled look.

An excited squeal made them both turn their heads to the side. “Oooh, that pose is perfect!” Liz cried, pausing to snap a photo with her phone.

“Eliza, not now,” Roderich said with a long-suffering sigh. He took Liz by the elbow and gently led her toward the main performance area.

Liz gave Alfred and Arthur a thumbs-up as she and Roderich walked past. “Hey, Monica! Look who’s going to win our bet,” she called over her shoulder.

“They’re not there yet,” the other woman retorted and tossed her French braid over her shoulder. Alfred recognized her as the person in charge of the Harvard Ballroom Dance Team tryouts. He smirked and gave her a jaunty wave. Served her right for betting against him.

He turned back to face Arthur, only to see that Arthur’s attention was focused on someone else. The hallways were almost completely empty, leaving just them and a few other people. One was the blonde in the green flapper dress; next to her walked a dark-haired young man with an easygoing smile and a white blouse opened halfway down his chest. He looked like he belonged on the cover of a sultry romance novel. Not that Alfred read sultry romance novels.

“Shit,” Arthur muttered under his breath.

“The competition?” Alfred asked.

“Yes,” Arthur replied through gritted teeth.

Oblivious to Arthur’s hostility, the wavy-haired brunet drew closer. “Arthur! I did not know you were entering the Lindy Hop competition,” he said with a friendly smile. He gave Alfred an appraising look. “And with a new partner! But not someone from the dance team?”

Alfred reached for the other man’s hand and gave him a handshake hard enough to make the friendly man flinch. “Nope. I’m Alfred.”

“Antonio. Pleasure to meet you,” he added as he gave Alfred another up-and-down glance.

Next to him, Alfred could feel Arthur tense. Even he could tell this was about something more than just the competition. Whatever it was, he wasn’t going to let the other man get on Arthur’s nerves. Alfred wrapped his arm around Arthur’s shoulders as he gave Antonio a toothy smile. “We’ve met before actually.”

“Ah?” Antonio looked surprised.

“Yep. I walked in on you and my roommate doing the do.”

Antonio laughed. “I think you are mistaken.”

“Dude, it was only a month ago.”

“Then you are certainly mistaken,” Antonio snapped as his smile vanished.

Antonio’s pretty blonde dance partner gave Alfred a sharp look. “Really?”

Alfred smiled at her. “I could call my roommate and check,” he offered. “It surprised me too! Lovino usually just talks about the ladies.”

“No, no, that is unnecessary. We are late!” Antonio replied, taking his dance partner by the hand as they left Alfred and Arthur alone in the now-deserted hallway.

“That was him, wasn’t it?” Alfred asked Arthur as soon as the other two were out of earshot.

Arthur shook his head. “I don’t want to talk about it.”

“He’s a jerk. He was just trying to rile you up before the competition.”

“I know.” Arthur snorted. “Unfortunately for him, you did a masterful job nettling him right back. Him and your roommate, what are the odds?”

Alfred shrugged. “Pretty good, apparently. I think everyone I know is gay.”

“Well, that’s not true. I’m not gay.”

“You aren’t?” Alfred’s heart screeched to a halt.

“No.” Arthur arched an eyebrow. After a second of pure agony, he added, “I swing both ways.”

“Oh.” Alfred breathed deeply as his heart started beating again. “Wait, was that a pun?”

“Merely a common idiom,” Arthur replied. “Come on, we should go out.”

“Heck yeah!” Alfred agreed. “I know an awesome coffee shop.”

Arthur rolled his eyes. “I meant onto the dance floor.”

“Well obviously the dance floor _first_ ,” Alfred conceded. “But maybe the coffee shop right after?” he asked hopefully. He stared deeply in Arthur’s eyes, trying to convey every ounce of his honest sincerity. He knew Arthur’s dancing style like the back of his hand, but there was still so much he wanted to know about Arthur as a person.

Arthur stared back, searching Alfred’s eyes. His gaze softened. “I thought dating my dance partner was a bad idea, but maybe it was just dating Antonio that was the bad idea. You know, a coffee shop sounds lovely, as long as they also serve tea,” he finally agreed.

“Yes!” Alfred punched his fist into the air. Date secured, it was time to go win the competition. “Just one last thing before we go in.” Before Arthur could reply, Alfred reached over and ruffled Arthur’s soft, sandy-blond hair until it was back to its usual, tousled look instead of combed back. “There, now you look perfect.”

“You too.” Arthur reached over and returned the favor by flicking Alfred’s cowlick and smiling as it defied gravity. He reached for Alfred’s hand and led him toward the competition area. Alfred followed Arthur in a blissful daze as the sounds of the opening waltz filled the hallway. He had a date!

The room had been decorated with strings of fairy lights and white, gauzy ribbons on the pillars. A rented wooden floor covered the linoleum; around it was seating on three sides, with the judges located at the far end. As the last to arrive, they were stuck with the folding seats in the very back row in the section reserved for performers. Alfred didn’t care that they had to look over everyone else’s heads to watch the dance teams compete. He was too busy floating on cloud nine. He ignored most of the waltzing, though Arthur seemed pleased with Liz and Roderich’s waltz performance.

After the dance teams competed in salsa and tango, which was at least more interesting than the waltzing, it was finally time for the Lindy Hop competition. Antonio and Emma went first. Their elegant, sensual style was marred by a strong hint of frostiness. They drew polite applause after the final dip.

As Arthur had predicted, Kiku and Mei delivered a much stronger performance. They had nearly as many aerials in their choreography as Alfred and Arthur, but Alfred liked to think that the flips over arms didn’t count as much as jumps over heads. The audience reacted positively, though Alfred thought part of it was approval of their song—a swing version of ‘Get Lucky.’ Even he found himself tapping his toes until Arthur glared at him.

The next two couples seemed to be having a good time, but weren’t doing anything interesting. Just the basic step with some spins and a few kicks. Alfred leaned back in his seat; he found his thoughts and gaze drifting back to Arthur. His partner watched the stage intently.

Before Alfred knew it, his and Arthur’s names were being called and Arthur was leading him out onto the dance floor. The number of people staring at them unnerved Alfred. As they reached the center of the stage, his mind blanked on the first part of their routine. He panicked and squeezed Arthur’s hand tightly. They took their starting position standing side-by-side.

“I’ve forgotten the steps,” Alfred whispered as he slipped his other hand behind Arthur’s back.

“Take a deep breath,” Arthur replied reassuringly. “You’ll remember it when you hear the music. Just like we practiced.” 

Alfred closed his eyes and tried to ignore the crowd. With his eyes shut, he could focus on his grip on Arthur’s hand and back, just the way they had practiced a dozen times before. As the first few beats of their energetic song began to play, Alfred started in on the Charleston kicks and felt Arthur matching him kick for kick. They were soon kicking back and forth in ever more complicated patterns and he opened his eyes to find Arthur giving him an encouraging smile. Alfred smiled back and the crowd disappeared into the background.

He led Arthur through a few tight turns and admired how beautifully Arthur executed them in his crisp jacket and butt-hugging pants. That was the whole point of turns, right? To give him a view of his partner’s firm backside. Once back to open position, they swung out their arms behind them and prepared for the Lindy flip. Alfred crouched down and slung Arthur over his back with just the right amount of force. Arthur’s grin widened as he landed perfectly and their impressive flip earned them loud applause.

Alfred felt like he was flying when they reached the first set of reverse polka moves. Even though he was trying to ignore the audience, the adrenaline of the competition still rushed through his veins. But he didn’t care what they thought. They could think of him as a silly polka dancer all they wanted. Arthur already knew he was a massive dork who loved puns and polka, and Arthur was still interested in going on a date.

He flipped Arthur over his back with ease and they swapped the lead for another set of kicks. Arthur still had better timing and Alfred let him set the precise tempo for the kicks. It felt good to move together in tandem, like two hearts beating as one.

After the second reverse polka set, Alfred tucked up his legs and flipped over Arthur’s back. Swapping the flip earned them several cheers. It was rare to see two dance partners who could each do aerials—one of the advantages of partnering with another man. Arthur had insisted on swapping one of the flips after Alfred hurt his ankle.

As they reached the final stretch, they glided through their footwork. Spins and twirls took them all over the dance floor. For the first time, Alfred saw the true beauty of Arthur’s choreography. Unlike the other couples, they were taking advantage of the entire floor. It made them seem livelier and more energetic.

Alfred was almost disappointed when the song ended and he lowered Arthur into their final dip. He hadn’t been paying much attention to direction, but they fortunately ended up mostly facing the judges. Alfred grinned at the sound of loud applause. Judging by the volume, they had done at least as well as Mei and Kiku.

They took a bow and returned to their seats. Alfred gratefully accepted the pats on the shoulder from the nearby performers and even Arthur couldn’t stop smiling. The last few performers included a brother-sister team that was pretty good, but Alfred could practically taste victory. Oddly enough, it tasted like skittles.

He was more than ready for the announcement of winners when it finally started. First came the team awards. Unsurprisingly, the Harvard team took first place. Alfred clapped politely. He was still annoyed at being rejected, but their practice room had come in handy and many of them were Arthur’s friends.

The real excitement started as they read off the winners for the open competition. In third place were Antonio and Emma, doing better than Alfred had expected. Apparently the judges didn’t mind sour expressions as long as they danced well. Next, in second place, Kiku and Mei. Alfred’s clapping grew a little louder. He held his breath as the judges announced first place…

…and frowned when it went to the brother-sister team. Murmurs of surprise mixed in with the audience’s applause. Alfred frowned, disappointed and unsettled by the brother’s expression. How could a smile be so threatening? Was that how they had won, by threatening the judges?

“I don’t get it. We danced perfectly!” he said in Arthur’s ear, trying to keep his volume down, but not entirely succeeding. What was wrong with the judges? Even if they didn’t win first place, they had definitely danced better than Antonio and Emma.

Arthur shook his head in disappointment. “I don’t know.” He held his head high when Antonio glanced their way and waved. “It doesn’t matter. We’ve still proven our points. You’ve shown you’re more than just a polka dancer.”

“Thanks to my great dance partner. I guess you’re right.” Still, a burning question lingered in the midst of Alfred’s crushing disappointment. “So… will you count moral victory for our dress picture bet? ‘Cause I’d rather have that than any trophy.”

Despite himself, Arthur looked rather pleased. “That could be arranged.”

The announcers finished thanking all of the sponsors and invited the audience to return for the Harvard Beginner’s Competition in October. Maybe they would return and claim the victory that had been so cruelly denied. Feeling rather miffed about the whole process, Alfred was ready to tune the announcers out when the final words caught his attention. “…last, but not least, our award for Best in Show goes to Arthur Kirkland and Alfred Jones.”

Alfred stood frozen in shock for a moment before he whooped in delight. He grabbed Arthur’s hand and pulled the gaping Englishman with him back to the dance floor where they accepted the tallest trophy of them all and a $100 gift card. He basked in the applause and smiled as Arthur caught Antonio’s glance and gave him a smug wave. Victory tasted even better than skittles.

With the tournament officially over, people milled about and came over to congratulate them. Arthur still looked a little shocked as his teammates slapped him on the back. “I’ve only seen it go to one of the formal dance team couples,” he explained to Alfred with a proud, surprised expression on his face. “I didn’t even know they gave it to people in the open competition!”

Alfred preened. “Guess they thought we were _better_ than the dance teams. It’s probably because we had polka in our routine.”

“Somehow I doubt that.” Arthur snorted. “But at least you won’t have any trouble joining the team next year,” he added as the crowds began to dissipate.

“Good.” Alfred grinned. “I’ve already got a dance partner in mind. He’s smart and a good teacher and hard-working and patient and handsome as hell. It’s weird though—I don’t think anyone else sees it.”

“They’re just bad judges of character,” Arthur replied with a smile. “I know someone they rejected who’s an amazing dancer and funny and kind.”

“Yeah?”

“Yes.” With a mischievous grin, Arthur grabbed Alfred by his suspenders and kissed him on the lips. The first one was just a peck to get their noses in alignment. The second lasted longer and went much deeper. Alfred made a noise of muffled pleasure and wrapped his arms around Arthur’s waist. By the third kiss he had forgotten that there was anyone else in the room, until he heard the click of a photo being taken.

They both looked over to see Liz with her phone in her hands. Alfred just laughed. “Send me the photos!” he said. “I need something to send to my mom.”

Arthur looked surprised. “You’re sending those to your mother?”

"Yeah." Alfred grinned sheepishly. “It’s a long story. You ready for that tea? Because I’ve got some explaining to do.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Yay, the end! Thank you all for sticking around to the end of the story. There might be an omake, but hopefully this victory kiss is enough to tide you over for now ;D
> 
> My apologies to any SpUK shippers. I like SpUK as a pre-USUK relationship because it makes sense to me that if Arthur liked laidback, easy-going Antonio, then it's natural for him to like happy-go-lucky Alfred. And if Antonio enjoyed spending time with constant-complainer Arthur, then it makes sense for him to fancy Lovino. USUK and Spamano, two great tastes that go great together!


	9. Keep Your Partner Happy

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> And here it is, the long promised omake! It's still T-rated, so you're just going to have to imagine that Alfred and Arthur are hot, sweaty, and breathless because they've been dancing all night.

_Ten months later…_

Strands of pink and red lights gave the ballroom a soft, romantic glow for the Valentine’s Day dance. Couples held each other close and swayed to the sensual beat of Latin love songs. After two energetic cha-chas, the playlist switched over to a smooth tango. Dancers normally changed partners after every song, but tonight almost no one did. A few couples left the floor, while the rest faced each other and shifted their position.

The stream of dancers moved counterclockwise around the room, feet going slow, slow, _quick quick_ slow. Near the edges, two blond young men overtook and passed several other dancers, moving faster on their longer legs. Their crisp white shirts and pressed navy slacks gave them the appearance of professionals, but from the smiles they exchanged, it was obviously a date night. They only had eyes for each other.

“Alfred, you know the tango isn’t supposed to be bouncy, right?” Arthur asked with a smile softening his critique.

“I can’t help it. I’m a bouncy person.”

“I know.” Having successfully slowed Alfred down, Arthur leaned his head against Alfred’s shoulder.

Heart beating fast, Alfred pulled Arthur even closer. He squeezed Arthur’s hand and pressed his fingers against the stiff fabric of Arthur’s shirt. Although Alfred would have preferred jeans with holes and a plain cotton t-shirt, he’d let Arthur pick the outfits for the evening and Arthur chose a fancier ensemble. Clothes maketh the man, he’d said. They probably looked like Mormons, but Alfred was pretty sure no one would confuse them for Latter Day Saints as they pressed against each other on the dance floor.

Despite his inexperience with the tricky tango tempo, Alfred lost himself in the sheer pleasure of holding his boyfriend close and dancing with him in the warm, crowded room. It was like the annual four-day polka festival in his hometown, except even better because here no one would care that he was dancing with a guy. A real hot guy. Probably the hottest guy who had ever lived.

After two more laps around the dance floor, the song ended with a stunning finale. Showing off his flexibility, Arthur kicked up his leg and hooked it around Alfred's hip and behind his lower back. He bent backwards. Taking his cue, Alfred leaned forward and dipped Arthur until his hair nearly brushed the floor. When Alfred pulled him back up, they pressed against each other again and ended the dance with their noses just centimeters apart. Breathing heavily, they gazed into each other's eyes. Without another word, Alfred and Arthur locked lips.

They were lost in their own little world near the edge of the dance floor while the playlist continued on and the other couples shifted into different stances. Alfred and Arthur would have cheerfully, obliviously continued kissing on the dance floor for another minute if Alfred hadn't noticed something special about the new song. Unlike the earlier songs, this one had a strong, even beat.

He pulled back and grinned at Arthur. "Do you hear that?"

Arthur shrugged. "Sounds like salsa."

"Yeah, but there's something else we could dance to it..."

Knowing his boyfriend as well as he did, Arthur caught his meaning immediately. He scowled. "No, absolutely not."

"Come on, please, please, please!" Alfred begged shamelessly.

"I'm not doing the polka with you on Latin dance night. It's a ridiculous dance and this room is far too crowded."

The blond sophomore glanced around, gauging the depth and movement of the dancing students. Yes, it was crowded, but less so along the edges. "We could make it work," he insisted. "We're the best and I have a trophy to prove it."

"Oh, for god's sake, what is it with you and polka?"

"Well," Alfred glanced down at his feet, "it _was_ the first dance we ever danced together..."

Arthur narrowed his eyes. "Don't think you can win me over with sap."

"How about this: it could be your Valentine's Day present to me."

"I've already gotten you one."

"Please, please, please?" Alfred begged again. "If you do, I'll agree with you that American chocolate is crap."

"You should agree with me anyway because it's true." Despite his harsh words, Arthur gazed at his boyfriend thoughtfully. "Okay, fine," he grudgingly agreed. "But only because it's Valentine's Day. And I'm leading."

Even though the salsa song was already half over, Alfred whooped in excitement and gave his boyfriend a face-splitting grin. They took a step closer together and clasped hands on one side. On the other side, Arthur placed his hand on Alfred's back, while Alfred rested his atop Arthur's shoulder. They had a good, solid connection, allowing them to feel each other's movements and anticipate what the other would do next.

Earning many surprised looks, they took three quick steps to the side and then started the polka. They twirled and pivoted in a large circle around the edge of the dance floor, weaving between the stationary couples with speed and grace. Alfred laughed with glee as they dodged between two other couples, barely managing to squeeze through the gap. Dancing with Arthur in a crowded room was fun and exhilarating and everything the polka was supposed to be.

By the time the song finally ended, Alfred out of breath, but still grinning so hard it felt like his face would hurt the next morning. He wiped some sweat from his brow with his hand and gave Arthur a happy, but tired, smile. “Wanna sit out the next coupla songs?”

“I have an even better idea. Let’s head back to my apartment and I'll give you your Valentine's Day gift.”

"Oooh, I like that idea," Alfred agreed cheerfully; he had a pretty good idea what the 'gift' would be. Weaving his way along the edge of the dance floor, he followed Arthur to the overflowing coat rack near the entrance. They changed into street shoes and extracted their coats from the pile. After slipping on their coats, they hurried out into the cold February night glove-in-glove. Alfred squeezed Arthur's hand and, seeing Arthur return his smile, felt a rush of heat that no winter evening could chill.

Unfortunately, after just a couple blocks on the way to Arthur's apartment, Alfred realized he would need to make a detour if he didn't want to walk home the next morning in dress clothes. He jerked his thumb toward the left. “Mind if I meet you there in like ten minutes? I need to go back to my room to get my clothes and a toothbrush and stuff.”

"Of course." Arthur kissed him on the cheek and they parted ways. 

Eager to make up for lost time, Alfred jogged the two blocks to his residence. The large dorm-style building was, fittingly enough, called Kirkland House. He loved it nearly as much as he loved his boyfriend. It helped that he had replaced the angry Italian with a much better roommate for his sophomore year. Toris was quiet and friendly and he always had a pot of coffee going in his coffee pot. Alfred raced up the stairs and dashed halfway down the hallway. He unlocked the door to his shared room and frowned when it refused to budge. It felt like there was something blocking it from swinging open.

“Toris?” he called. "I think there's something wrong with the door."

"Well, it's uh..." his roommate sounded out of breath. "I just... I thought the dance didn’t end for another hour.”

"We left early."

"Um, would you mind coming back in an hour?"

Alfred heard a few feminine giggles from behind the door. He realized his mistake and flushed in embarrassment for both of them. After sexiling Toris once or twice, he owed it to his roommate to give him and his girlfriend(s) some privacy. "Oh. I, uh... yeah, I'll be back tomorrow morning."

He could live without a change of clothes, he decided. Unfortunately, as he stepped outside of his residence, Alfred remembered that he had left Arthur's present sitting on his bed. Too embarrassed to go back, he decided he would just have to buy a replacement gift. So much for the L.A. Burdick handmade chocolates he had bought to prove to Arthur that American chocolates could be delicious

Alfred jogged to the local organic market and quickly realized the dangers of trying to buy a Valentine's Day present at 10pm on Valentine's day. He gazed forlornly at the nearly empty shelves. The roses were gone. The chocolate was down to Hershey's, which Arthur _hated_. There were still plenty of wine bottles left, but he had no idea what kind Arthur liked. As far as Alfred was concerned, wine came in two flavors: red and white. The vast array of international brands was too much to handle.

He helplessly wandered the aisles, knowing that every minute he wasted was just going to make Arthur more annoyed. But he couldn't show up with nothing when Arthur had given him the gift of polka! Alfred finally settled on the card aisle and picked out something very glittery and expensive. It was the thought that counted... right?

As Alfred hurried to the cash register, he bumped into a shelf of seed packets. The ones at the top caught his eye and a grin slowly spread across his face. He couldn't get Arthur roses, but he could get him rose _seeds_!

With a spring in his step, Alfred quickly paid for the gift and sprinted the rest of the way to Arthur's apartment. He was met at the door by a less-than-enthusiastic Englishman with wet hair in a bathrobe.

"You certainly took your time," Arthur complained as Alfred stepped inside the small studio apartment. They stood on the tile floor next to the tiny kitchen.

Seeing Arthur's annoyed, disappointed expression, Alfred didn't even wait to catch his breath before explaining. "Yeah... well... my roommate... sorta sexiled... me and then... I hadta get... a new gift," he said between gasps for air. He pressed the pink envelope into Arthur's hand.

The older student opened the note and raised an eyebrow as he studied the pouch inside. "Rose seeds? Alfred, I don't have a garden here."

"I know." By this point, Alfred had caught his breath, but he still spoke hesitantly. It had been a spur-of-the-moment idea, as all of his great ideas were, and he wasn't sure how much Arthur would like it. "Actually, I was thinking you could maybe come to Wisconsin with me for spring break and we could plant them there."

Arthur's eyebrows skyrocketed. "You want to introduce me to your parents? Do you really think that's a good idea?"

"Yeah." Alfred's grin faltered. "Maybe. I'm not sure."

"We can think about it." Arthur gave him a softer smile. "You're such a sap."

"So, about that present you mentioned..." Alfred waggled his eyebrows and nodded at Arthur's soft, fuzzy bathrobe. He had a pretty good idea what was under the robe. Or more accurately, what Arthur _wasn't_ wearing under the robe.

Arthur grinned playfully. "Let me set the mood." He walked a few steps away from Alfred to his desk and started playing Moonlight Serenade on his computer speakers. With the seductive 1940s Glen Miller music providing a romantic ambiance, he took a few more graceful steps and posed dramatically next to his bed.

Gazing seductively at Alfred over his shoulder, Arthur untied the belt around his waist with smooth, careful movements. He paused dramatically, and then let the bathrobe fall to a soft, fuzzy pile on the floor. 

Alfred gasped in shock to see the red, sparkly dress that Arthur was wearing underneath. The dress hugged his body at his trim waist. A little lower, it split on each side near his thighs, showcasing Arthur’s incredible legs. The American gulped and drank in the beautiful sight. After their victory, he'd been blessed to see the photos Arthur had taken of himself wearing a red dress in the changing room, but they didn't do him justice.

"You actually bought it?" Alfred asked in surprised delight.

Arthur turned around to face his boyfriend, the red sequins shimmering as he moved. "A few days later."

"But you didn't even know we'd win."

"I knew."

"Or that we were gonna get together."

"I had a good feeling about that too." Arthur placed his hands on his hips, looking seductive in his tight, glittering red dress.

"Yeah? Me, too." Alfred's look of surprise slowly morphed into a gentle smile. He took a few steps closer and unabashedly ogled his boyfriend. "You look amazing. I mean, you're always sexy, but this is like, extra super awesome sexy."

"I still don't really understand why you like seeing me in a dress so much."

"Well..." Alfred bit his lip. "I think it's because growing up, I was told that girls in dresses were attractive. And I didn't find girls attractive, so it had to be the dresses." He looked Arthur up and down from the top of his messy golden hair to the tips of his adorable toes. Alfred smiled. "Or it might just be how great your legs look."

Alfred took Arthur by the hand and spun him around a few times, admiring the way the red sequins sparkled on Arthur's cute butt. He wondered if he could convince Arthur to wear the dress during a competition. Then again, maybe he preferred to be the only one who had ever seen Arthur in his sexy red dress.

He grinned at Arthur. "You look like you could use a partner. Would you be my Valentine?"

"Of course, love." Arthur kissed him gently. "Happy Valentine's Day," he murmured as they stumbled toward the bed.

The music played and they danced all night.


End file.
